THE MASTER SINGERS
I
Acrossthe wide sea, amid the green hop fields of southern Germany, is the old, old city of Nuremberg. Shut off from the busy world outside by its great wall of stone, it has stood unchanged through all the passing centuries. There are the same narrow, crooked streets leading to the public squares, where quaintly carved stone fountains stand. There are the same many gabled, lofty houses, with oriole windows that open outward. There are latticed doorways with plaster figures that beckon and bless and welcome. And the gray castle, the grass-grown moat, the dark, pillared church, all tell stories of the days of long ago.
In those days men dreamed dreams and sang songs as they sat on the bench or in themarket place. The cobbler at his last, the baker before the oven, the silversmith by the fire, even the little apprentice, watching and learning, looked out upon a fair world and found it good. So while hands were busy, thoughts roved far and wide, and fancy wove many a song to sing by the fireside on wintry nights.
But not only by the fireside were those songs sung in the days when Nuremberg was young. The good people there prized the Art of Song too highly for that alone.
"Though a man's lot be humble," they said, "his thoughts may be rich in fancy; he may have a song to sing." So they formed a guild devoted to the cultivation of poetry and music, and the members of this guild were called Master Singers. Every man who wished to enter the guild was obliged to write some verses,—according to the rules of the guild; and to compose appropriate music for those verses,—according to the rules of the guild;and, finally, to sing them both together,—according to the rules of the guild. Then if the masters approved of his performance, he became one of the Master Singers of Nuremberg. And great was the honor conferred upon him when he reached this high estate! Many had tried, but few had been chosen. Indeed, the entire guild was composed of but twelve members. These were, for the most part, worthy men, devoted to their trades and to music. And each one had a boy apprenticed to him, to whom he taught cobbling or soap-making or baking or tailoring by day, and the Art of Song by night.
Among the Master Singers of Nuremberg none is better remembered than Hans Sachs. He was a cobbler by trade and a poet by nature, and his songs and verses have outlived his boots by many a year. It is of his part in a song festival of the Master Singers hundreds of years ago that our story has to tell.
II
Itbegan on the day before the feast of St. John in St. Catherine's Church, which was really not the proper place for a love affair to begin at all. But what did Eva Pogner or Sir Walter von Stolzing care for that? The only thing that mattered to them was the joyous Springtime which had stolen in through the open chancel window and had warmed their hearts toward everything in the world,—but most of all toward each other.
Sir Walter stood leaning against a great stone pillar at the back of the church. He wore a blue velvet suit, his hat had a long white plume, and he was as handsome a young knight as one could ever wish to see.
Pretty Eva sat in the last pew with her maid Magdalena by her side. Her head was bent, and her eyes were upon her prayer book, as befitted a modest maiden. Still she saw Sir Walter very plainly. In fact, somehow,she caught every message that his dark eyes sent across the church. And her cheeks turned rosy, and her heart grew warmer than ever the Springtime had made it. Indeed, those glances so confused her that she lost her place in the hymn book. Magdalena noticed it and nudged her mistress sharply. So Eva sent one glance back to the fascinating young knight, just a little frightened one; and then she joined in the closing hymn. But when she lifted up her joyous young voice and made it ring high above all the rest, Sir Walter stared harder than ever.
The young knight had loved this light-hearted maiden since he had first seen her in her father's house. And his only wish was to win her for his bride. But how? Suppose she were already promised to some one else!
While these mingled thoughts of joy and doubt possessed him, a ray of sunshine crept into the dark church. It lingered on Eva's head, making a halo of her golden hair. Amoment later he saw two eyes, mirroring some of the sky's own blue, dart him a shy glance. And he heard a voice so sweet that he was sure the angels themselves stood still to listen. Come what might, thought he, he would speak to her that very day.
The service was over. One by one the people filed slowly between the dark pillars, and out of the church, into the bright sunshine. Only Eva and Magdalena lingered, smiling and chatting with friends and neighbors as they walked slowly along. As they approached the pillar behind which Sir Walter stood, he stepped forward. The long, white plume of his hat swept the floor as he bowed in greeting.
"One word, my fair maid, I entreat," he began.
Strange to say, the moment Eva heard his voice she discovered that she had forgotten her handkerchief. Perhaps it was in the pew. Magdalena must return for it.
Then, with the maid safely out of hearing, Eva turned her mischievous face to Sir Walter. She was ready to listen, so he spoke. Did Eva look upon him with favor? Might he hope? Scarcely were the words out of his mouth, when Magdalena was back again, handkerchief in hand.
"Come, Eva," she said; "it is growing late."
But Eva was in no hurry, with this gallant cavalier close at hand. Perhaps he wished to tell her a beautiful story. Had Magdalena seen her scarfpin? It was gone. Was it there on the floor?
"Good Lena, go back and find it," said the artful Eva.
And Lena went back, grumbling, and searched here, there, and everywhere.
Meanwhile Sir Walter improved his opportunity. The words hurried to his lips. He begged Eva to tell him whether light and happiness, or gloom and doubt, were to be his portion.
The answering words were trembling on Eva's lips ready to be spoken. But there stood the ubiquitous Magdalena again, with the scarfpin!
"We must go home," she said. "Come. Here's your kerchief and your pin. But where's my prayer book? Oh, alackaday! I've left it in the pew!"
Back she bustled once more.
These interruptions served to make Sir Walter more impatient than ever. Would he never be able to make love in peace? He took a long breath, leaned forward, and whispered eagerly: "May I hope? Or are you promised to some one else?"
And for answer, while Eva hid her eyes for fear they would tell of her love too soon, there was Magdalena again!
"Yes, Sir Walter," said Magdalena, and she curtsied low, wishing to be most polite to this handsome young man.
"Yes, Sir Walter," she repeated. "Our Eva is betrothed."
Betrothed? Sir Walter was stunned into silence; misery spread itself like a black cloud over his face. Nor did the reply please Miss Eva, either. She quickly interrupted, saying:
"But no one knows who the bridegroom will be. No, not until to-morrow."
Sir Walter knit his brows. That was amazing! Was it a puzzle? What did it mean?
Eva and Magdalena hastened to explain. After all, it was very simple.
Out in the meadows near Nuremberg a song festival was to be held to-morrow. It was to be a great singing match. And Eva's father had promised part of his fortune, and his daughter besides, to the singer who should win the prize. Eva herself was to crown the victor with a wreath of laurel. "But," they continued, "he must be a Master Singer. No one may even try for the prize who is not a member of the guild."
"Are you not a Master Singer, Sir Walter?"inquired Eva, timidly, and it was plain that she wished with all her heart to hear him say yes.
Poor Sir Walter! Until that moment he had never heard of the Master Singers. As for the song contest, he never even knew that there was to be such a thing. What was to be done? Could no one help? Walter was in despair, and Eva, who by this time knew the man she wished to marry, was on the verge of tears.
A shaft of light streamed across the church. The door was opened, then closed with a bang. A youth ran in hastily. He noticed no one. He wore a businesslike air, as he hurried this way and that. He was David, apprentice to Hans Sachs, the shoemaker.
From the expression on Magdalena's face when she saw David, it was easy to see how matters stood! Her heart was affected, too, and David was the cause. She looked at him admiringly a moment, then gave a little cough.David started. He hastened toward her, smiling and holding out his hands. Ah! it was his own true love, Lena! But she must not detain him. He was busy. There was to be a trial meeting.
"A trial meeting!" exclaimed Magdalena, joyfully. "Just the thing!" Now the handsome knight would have a chance. She beamed happily upon David. "You must explain everything to him!" she cried, and whispered the directions eagerly.
But Mr. David was stubborn. He had no time. There was the platform to be set, the curtains to be hung, the chairs and the benches to be arranged. And it was late.
"David, dear David," coaxed Lena, with her face close to his, "if you'll help Sir Walter to become a Master Singer, I'll bring you a basket full of the best things you ever ate."
And before David had time to refuse, the clever Lena had seized Eva's hand and had hurried with her from the church.
Scarcely were they gone, than with a great shouting the jolly apprentices danced into the church. They hopped and skipped about, joking and laughing, as they made ready for the meeting. They pulled one another's hair, they played leapfrog over the chairs, they pushed, they shoved, but they worked, too, and in a twinkling the church was transformed into a meeting place. There stood the marker's platform, for all the world like a great box, with black curtains on all four sides. To the right of it were the benches for the masters, and in plain view of all was the great chair for the candidate.
Sir Walter had, all unconsciously, seated himself in the great chair. His eyes stared moodily ahead. He heard nothing, saw nothing, of all the fun about him. He was buried in deepest gloom. He had promised Eva that he would become a poet, a singer, for her sake, and he wished to do so, but where and how was he to begin? Her father would not allowher to marry any one but a Master Singer. How could he become a Master Singer in one day?
While these thoughts passed through the young knight's mind, young David stood watching. Suddenly he shouted:
"Now begin!"
Walter gave a jump.
"Eh, what?" he stuttered.
"Begin the song," said David. "That's what the marker says, and then you must sing up. Don't you know that?"
Sir Walter shook his head. He knew nothing.
"He's a stupid fellow for all his fine clothes," thought David. Then he said aloud:
"Don't you know that the marker is the man who sits in the curtained box and marks the mistakes?"
No. Sir Walter did not know that.
"Don't you know that the singer may have seven mistakes, seven,—and no more?"
Sir Walter did not know that, either.
"Well, well! And you want to become a Master Singer in one day. I've studied for years and years with Hans Sachs, my master, and I'm not a Master Singer yet. You have a lot to learn," and David gave a great sigh and scratched his head with his forefinger. Then, like the kind-hearted fellow that he was, but with half a thought fixed upon Lena's cakes, he began to explain. He explained the rules for high tones and low tones, for standing and sitting, for breathing and ending, for grace notes and middle notes, for rhyming and tuning; and the more he explained, the more perplexed poor Sir Walter became. His spirits dropped, dropped, down to his very boots. Indeed, his discouragement was so great that I fear he would have been much inclined to run away if at that moment the Master Singers had not come in.
Veit Pogner, the rich silversmith, came first. And tagging behind him, talking excitedly,and gesticulating while he talked, was the Marker of the guild, the town clerk, Sixtus Beckmesser. The rest came after. But their voices could not be heard. The town clerk was so busy telling Master Pogner that he hoped to win his daughter on the morrow, and that he would serenade her that very night, that no one else had a chance to say anything.
Imagine a short man, a fat man, a man with thin, crooked legs, a mincing gait, a head too bald, a face too red; in short, a clown of a man. That was Sixtus Beckmesser. Then think of two squinting eyes fastened upon Master Pogner's money. That was the secret of the town clerk's love for pretty Eva. He was as different from Sir Walter as night is from day, as sorrow is from joy, as falsehood is from truth. But he was determined to win in the song contest. And he had many powers, good and evil, to help him, as you shall see.
Sir Walter stepped forward, and Veit Pognergreeted him kindly. Surely so handsome a knight should be favored. Hans Sachs came forward, also. And all agreed that Sir Walter should be given an opportunity. Only Beckmesser snarled with rage, for the young knight was a formidable rival.
"Ha! ha!" croaked he to himself. "Just wait. Let him try to sing! I'll show him what singing is."
Sir Walter was bidden to seat himself in the candidate's chair. And, with a smile that was far from friendly, Sixtus Beckmesser, slate and chalk in hand, entered the Marker's box and pulled the curtains together behind him.
Then in a harsh tone he called out:—
"Now begin!"
Walter mused a moment and then began his song. The words, the music, flowed forth unbidden from his full heart. He sang of the Springtime which came into the sleeping forest, and, with thousands of heavenly voices,awakened the birds, the bees, the flowers. He sang of murmuring brooks, of rustling leaves, and of winter all forlorn, lurking in the woodlands, loath to depart.
And as he sang, groans of discouragement came from within the Marker's box. There was the sound of chalk scratches, once, twice, and again.
Walter hesitated a moment. Then he went on. He sang of the awakening of the woods to life, to happiness. His voice rose high in joyous refrain.
But a loud groan came from the Marker's box. Another scratch—another.
Walter took a long breath. He did not care. With thoughts of his fair Eva in mind, he sang on. He sang of love, which, like Springtime in the woodland, had awakened his heart. He sang of the thrill of life it brought, the happiness, the all-surpassing joy.
Suddenly the curtains were roughly pushed apart, and Beckmesser rushed out, slate inhand. It was covered on both sides with marks!
"Can no one stop him?" he cried as he jumped frantically about. "The slate is full," and he laughed exultingly.
The Masters joined in the laughter, for, it was true, Sir Walter had sung according to no rule of the guild. Only Hans Sachs and Veit Pogner, realizing the beauty and poetry of the song, tried to argue for the young knight. But their opinions were overruled. The Master Singers decreed that Sir Walter had lost his chance. He must be silent and sing no more. Sixtus Beckmesser remained triumphant, and Walter left the church while the Masters pronounced the decree,—
"Outdone and outsung."
III
Theday of toil was over. Twilight came, and then the cool and quiet evening. A bright moon rode on high. It peeped in and out,between the gables, behind the church spire, and promised fair weather for the morrow.
sang the jolly 'prentice boys, as they appeared at their masters' house doors to close the shutters for the night.
David stood on the little grass plot before his master's cottage, also. But he was not in so merry a mood. He was a serious young man with a sweetheart of his own, and he had no time for frivolity or nonsense. Let silly boys caper as they wished. So he pulled down the shutters and never noticed Magdalena, who had slipped out of Veit Pogner's great house across the street and was hastening toward him. The boys snickered and beckoned to one another in great glee. A well-laden basket was on Magdalena's arm, and even her voice had an inviting sound.
"David, dear, turn around!" she called.David hastened eagerly to her side. The boys, too, with broad grins overspreading their faces, crept forward on tiptoes to listen.
"See, David," they heard Lena say, "here's something nice for you. Take a peep inside. Doesn't that make your mouth water? But tell me first, what of Sir Walter?"
"There's nothing much to tell," answered David, quite unconcerned. "He was outsung and outdone!"
"Outsung and outdone!" gasped Magdalena. "Take your hands off of my basket. No, sir! None of my goodies for you!" and she flounced off, murmuring: "What's to be done? Oh, what's to be done?"
David stared after her. He was dumfounded. But the boys jeered and pointed their fingers at him. They had heard it all. Laughing and singing, they formed a ring, and capered about David, who became very angry, and struck out blindly right and left. But the more he raved and raged, the morethey teased and tormented, until, all of a sudden, a tall figure stood before them. It was Hans Sachs, the cobbler. Annoyance was written all over his good-humored face. His honest blue eyes sent out sparks of anger. The boys hung their heads.
"What does this mean?" he cried. "To bed! To bed!" The apprentices stole shamefacedly away.
"And you"—he continued, taking the crest-fallen David by the ear, "put the new shoes on the lasts and get into the house. No song to-night, sir!" They entered the workshop.
All was still on the narrow street for a little while. Eva and her father sauntered homeward from their evening walk. They lingered for a few moments beneath the linden tree before the door, enjoying the evening air. Then they entered the house for supper. Lights glimmered in the windows. A dog barked in the distance. Peace pervaded the quiet town.
Hans Sachs appeared again at his workshop door. He flung it open and peered down the street, then he looked up at the sky. The gentle evening breeze fanned his cheeks. How refreshing it was! How pleasant it would be to work out of doors to-night! And, calling David, he ordered him to place his bench, his stool, the light, the tools outside, beneath the tree.
"You will not work in this light, Master?" queried David.
"Be quiet," retorted Hans Sachs, shortly. "Go to bed!"
"Sleep well, Master."
"Good night," answered Hans Sachs, as he sat down by the bench and took up his tools. But he did not work. The silvery moonlight cast a glamor over the town. It softened the outlines of all that he looked upon and made them vague, uncertain, beautiful. The evening breeze wafted down the sweet scent of the elder blossoms, and a delicious languorovercame him. The soul of the poet arose in the body of the cobbler, and, as if under a spell, he sat motionless, oblivious to shoes, lasts, tools, everything. The Song of Spring that the young knight had sung that afternoon began to haunt him. Faintly, elusively, it came to his mind, like the distant echo of a melody heard in a dream. Musing upon Sir Walter, who, like the birds in the woodland, had sung the song his heart had told him to sing, he did not see Eva trip lightly from her father's house. She paused before him. Hans Sachs looked up. The sweet girl, swaying back and forth like a bird on a bough, looked more like a happy thought than a physical reality.
Eva broke the silence shyly.
"Good evening, Master," she said. "Still working?"
Instantly Hans Sachs' face wore a genial smile of welcome.
"Ah, little Eva," he answered, "you havecome to speak about those new shoes for to-morrow, I'll be bound."
Now, as you no doubt have already guessed, artful Miss Eva had come for no such purpose at all. To tell the truth, she had feared to ask her father aught concerning the trial meeting of the Master Singers that afternoon. For she knew it would be far easier to wheedle the story from her old friend Hans Sachs.
With a fine affectation of unconcern she began her questioning. But little did she know Hans Sachs. He, as it happened, was quite clever enough to divine her plan. He suspected that she must have some hidden reason for this sudden interest in the trial meeting. At least, he thought, it would do no harm to find out. So he spoke harshly of Sir Walter, and pretended that he had sung abominably at the trial meeting. Indeed, the Masters were quite right in rejecting him! And all the time he watched Eva's expression and laughed, oh, how he laughed, in his sleeve!
Eva flushed crimson. She flew into a temper.
"A nice lot of Masters, indeed!" She flung the words at Hans Sachs. "Little do they know of fine singing, or you either, for that matter." Then she rushed angrily away, and crossed the street to her own home.
Hans Sachs smiled tenderly. He nodded his head wisely as he gazed after her.
"Ah!" he said to himself, "that's just what I thought! That's just what I thought!"
And still shaking his head, he gathered up his tools and entered the workshop. He closed the door behind him; that is, he nearly closed the door,—nearly, not entirely, which was most fortunate, as you shall see.
Not long afterward Sir Walter von Stolzing came hastening down the street. His face was full of sorrow. All his hopes of winning Eva were gone. He would see her once more, and then bid her farewell forever.
Eva saw him coming. Running toward him, she greeted him gladly and led him to the garden seat, beneath the shade of the linden tree. And there the young knight told her of his failure. As he spoke of the narrow-minded Masters who had spurned his song, his voice grew bitter. "Ah," he continued, "all hope is gone unless you will marry me to-night." Eva assented eagerly. And so, in excited whispers, just loud enough for Hans Sachs to hear, the two lovers planned to run away.
Losing no time, Eva ran into the house and donned Magdalena's cloak. Then, bidding the maid seat herself by the window in her stead, she hurried to join Sir Walter.
Just as the two lovers made ready under cover of the darkness to dive down the narrow street, clever Hans Sachs threw his workshop door wide open, and the broad stream of bright light from his lamp flooded their path. Eva and Sir Walter fell back. They could notpass that way. The cobbler would be sure to see them. They looked in the opposite direction. No. There was the watchman, and skulking in his wake was still another figure. Who could that be? He was coming that way. Oh, this would never do. In despair the lovers rushed back to the friendly shadows beneath the linden tree.
Meanwhile Hans Sachs, who had no objection to their marriage, but who felt a great distaste for elopements, had brought out his tools, and had seated himself at his workbench once more. He, too, spied a strange figure slinking down the street toward Pogner's house. Well he knew those thin legs, that fat body, the too bald head, the too red face. It was Beckmesser, the town clerk, the Marker of the guild. He had come to serenade the fair Eva. He would show her what fine singing was. And he looked up at her window expectantly, as he tuned his lute.
At the same moment Hans Sachs, chucklingsoftly to himself, broke out in a loud song accompanied by an outrageous hammering upon a pair of shoes. His big voice rang out so lustily that it completely drowned the tinkle, tinkle of the town clerk's lute. Beckmesser became frantic with rage. Suppose Miss Eva should hear! Suppose she should think he was singing in that atrocious manner. A slim chance he would have to win her to-morrow! He gazed at the closed shutters Then he ran to Hans Sachs, scolding and pleading with him to be silent. What did Master Beckmesser want? And Master Sachs was most indignant. Those were his shoes that he was working upon. A man must keep at his trade. And the jolly cobbler went on hammering and singing as loudly as before.
The panic of Master Beckmesser increased. He paced angrily to and fro. He put his fingers to his ears. And if Hans Sachs had not been so big and strong, it is not hard to imagine what he would have done next.
At last when the window in Pogner's house opened wide and revealed a maiden seated there, Hans Sachs ceased. He had a plan. He consented to listen to Beckmesser's serenade if he might be permitted to mark each error by tapping on his lapstone. For there were shoes to be finished, and that was the only way.
The plan did not please Beckmesser at all, but, since he had no choice, he was forced to agree. So, by way of beginning, he strummed a prelude on his lute, and looked for favor at the figure in the window. But before he had time to get his breath Hans Sachs had struck the shoe a mighty blow and had shouted,—
"Now begin!"
Beckmesser started. Then he began to sing. But a sorry performance it was. The nervousness, the anger, the malice, had entered his voice and had made it harsh and squeaky by turns. He sang a line. It was out of tune. Down went the hammer. He scowled and begananother line. It did not rhyme. The hammer fell again. And so, becoming more and more enraged, Beckmesser sang more and more falsely, so that Hans Sachs was kept busy beating a veritable tattoo upon his lapstone. Beckmesser squeaked, he bawled, he howled, and all the time Hans Sachs hammered and hammered, until both shoes were done.
This howling and hammering awakened the people in the houses all about. Shutters were pushed back, windows were opened, nightcaps appeared and sleepy voices ordered them to be silent.
David, hearing the tumult, peered out. When he saw a strange man before the window serenading a lady whom he at once perceived to be his Lena, he rushed out, cudgel in hand. He fell upon the unfortunate musician, who yelled so loudly that the whole neighborhood was aroused. The apprentices rushed out and fell upon David, and the Masters rushed out and fell upon the apprentices, and beforeany one knew what it was all about, everybody was hitting everybody else. The clamor and commotion grew and grew apace. People came running from all sides, and joined in the general hubbub and confusion.
Only Hans Sachs kept a cool head. Seeing that Eva and her knight were about to make use of the excitement to run away, he intercepted them. First he pushed Eva into her father's house. Then, grasping Walter by the arm, he thrust him into his own workshop and, following him, closed the door.
The street fight continued. Suddenly the sound of the watchman's horn was heard in the distance. The crowd was seized with a panic of fear. As if by magic, it dispersed. The people suddenly disappeared into the houses, down the alleys, behind doors, anywhere. The lights were extinguished. All was still.
When the sleepy watchman came to that street, he rubbed his eyes, stared about him insurprise, and then shook his head. Could he have been dreaming? He thought that he had heard a noise. Holding his torch aloft, he blew his horn and cried out:
Then he went his way. And the moon shone down upon the peaceful streets of Nuremberg.
IV
Midsummer Daydawned. Long before the town was awake, while Sir Walter still slumbered in an inner room of the cottage, Hans Sachs sat in the great armchair by the open window. The morning sunshine fell upon his head as he bent over the thick and musty volume he held in his hands. But who shall say he was reading as he turned thetime-worn leaves over and over? His mind wandered far afield,—to the early days of his beloved Nuremberg, to the trades, to himself, the humble cause of last night's brawl. And the thought of the two young lovers came to him. He would like so much to help them, if he could only find a way. So absorbed was he that he scarcely noticed the youth David who came to offer him the basket of goodies, which Magdalena had given him as a token of forgiveness.
And so the moments passed. Hans Sachs resumed his reading, until at length the chamber door was opened and Sir Walter stood upon the threshold. Bidding his host good morning, he walked slowly toward him.
"Ah, good morning, Sir Knight," replied Hans Sachs, forgetful of the great book, which slid to the floor as he arose. "I hope you rested well."
"Thank you. The sleep that I had was restful," answered Sir Walter, in a dreamy andpreoccupied tone. Then he exclaimed rapturously,—
"But I had a most beautiful dream!"
"A dream?" Hans Sachs was all attention. "Tell it to me!"
"I dare not. I fear it will fade away," said Sir Walter.
"Nay. It is of such dreams that poetry is made,"—and the eyes of the cobbler gleamed with an inner radiance. "Poems are but dreams made real."
Thus urged and encouraged, the young knight sang the story of his dream. And Hans Sachs was moved by the rare beauty of the poetry and music. Hastily procuring pen and ink, he bade Sir Walter sing it over again while he transcribed the words to paper. Then, as the song continued, the kind-hearted master added bits of advice in a low tone. He showed the young knight how he could keep the words and melody as beautiful as his dream, and still obeythe rules of correct singing. Charging him not to forget the tune, Hans Sachs insisted that Sir Walter array himself in his richest garments and accompany him to the Song Festival.
"For," concluded he, "something may happen. Who can tell?" And so the two men entered the inner room together.
Hans Sachs was right. Something did happen, and very soon, too. Scarcely was that door closed than the one leading to the street was cautiously pushed open. And a too bald head, a too red face, and two squinting, crafty eyes peeped in. Then, assured that no one was about, a wretched figure limped after. It was Beckmesser, the town clerk, but a sore and aching Beckmesser; a Beckmesser who could neither sit, nor stand,—a miserable Beckmesser, whose disposition had not been at all improved by the cudgeling that he had received. Slowly and painfully he came forward. And since there was no one at hand, heshook his fist and scowled savagely at the bright sunshine and the soft air.
As he hopped and limped about the room, he came, by chance, to the table whereon lay the paper upon which Hans Sachs had written. He took it up, inquisitively sniffing, as he ran his eye over it. What was this? A trial song, and a love song at that? And, hearing the chamber door open, he, then and there, stuck the paper into his pocket. How Hans Sachs smiled when he saw what the crafty creature had been about!
"Very well, Master Beckmesser," said he. "Since you've already pocketed the song, and since I do not wish you to be known as a thief, I gladly give it to you."
"And you'll never tell any one that you composed it?" squeaked Beckmesser.
"No, I'll never tell any one that I composed it," and Hans Sachs turned away to hide his laughter, for he knew full well that no Master Beckmesser could learn and sing that song that day.
But the miserable Beckmesser was beside himself with joy. Such a song, composed by a master like Hans Sachs and sung by a singer like Sixtus Beckmesser, could not fail to win the prize! Rubbing his hands with glee, he hobbled and stumbled from the room.
The time for the Song Festival came at last. The worthy people of Nuremberg,—the bakers, the cobblers, the tailors, the tinkers, with their wives and their sweethearts, all clad in the brightest of holiday clothes, journeyed to the open meadow at some distance behind the town. And there a scene of jollity and merriment awaited them. Gayly decorated boats sailed to and fro, bringing more burghers from near and far. Under tents of colored bunting merry people were eating and drinking. Flags flew, bands played; there was dancing and singing, laughter and joy. And the 'prentices in all the glory of floating ribbons and many-colored flowers ran this way andthat, ordering the tradespeople to the benches one moment and dancing with the prettiest girls the next.
Suddenly a shout was heard: "The Master Singers! The Master Singers!" And a hush fell over the company, as the 'prentices marched solemnly forward and cleared the way. The standard bearer came first, and following him, Veit Pogner, leading the fair Eva by the hand. She was richly dressed, and looked radiant as the morning itself. Attending her were other splendidly gowned maidens, among whom was the one that David thought the most lovely of all. Then came the Master Singers. And when the people saw their beloved Hans Sachs among the rest, they shouted and waved their hats in loyal greeting.
The Master Singers took their seats on the platform, a place of honor in their midst having been assigned to Eva and her maidens. Several 'prentices ran forward and heaped up a little mound of turf, which they beatsolid and then strewed with flowers. The time for the prize singing was at hand.
The 'prentices conducted Beckmesser to the mound. He put up one aching leg, then the other. He stood wavering uncertainly a moment, then toppled over.
"The thing is rickety," he snarled. "Make it secure."
The boys set hastily to work, slyly snickering, while they beat the turf with their spades. And the people near at hand giggled and whispered:
"What a lover!"—"I wouldn't care for him if I were the lady."—"He's too fat."—"Look at his red face."—"Where's his hair?"
With the help of the 'prentices Beckmesser again hobbled up on the mound. Striving to set his feet securely, he looked right and left. Then he made a grand bow.
The standard bearer called out,—
"Now, begin."
And he began. He sang such a song as Nuremberg had never heard before and hoped never to hear again. Mixed with the tune of the new song was the miserable serenade he had sung the night before. As for the new words that he had tried to learn, they were gone completely. His mind was blank. So he ducked his head and took a peep at the paper, and instead of the words,
Beckmesser sang,—
and much more besides that was far worse. The people muttered to each other. They could not understand what it was all about. TheMasters stared in perplexity. Finally, as the singer became more and more confused, and sang a jumble of ridiculous and meaningless words, they all burst into a loud peal of laughter.
The sound of laughter stung Beckmesser to fury. He stumbled angrily from the mound and, shaking his fist at Hans Sachs, declared that if the song was poor, it was not his fault. Hans Sachs was to blame. He had written it. Then he threw the paper on the platform and, rushing madly through the crowd, disappeared.
The people were in confusion, the Masters were amazed. They all turned to Hans Sachs for an explanation. He picked up the paper, smoothed it out, handed it to the Masters, and said:
"No, the song is not mine. I could not hope to compose anything so beautiful."
Beautiful? The Masters were incredulous. Hans Sachs must be joking. But he went on.
"Yes, beautiful. Master Beckmesser has sung it incorrectly. The one who wrote it could render it in a manner that would prove its beauty beyond a doubt." Raising his voice, he called:
"Let the one who can sing the song step forward."
And to the great surprise of all, Sir Walter von Stolzing, clad in glittering knightly apparel, came from the crowd. He bowed courteously to the Masters, and won the hearts of all by his noble looks and his manly bearing. He stepped lightly upon the mound, mused a moment, and then began his song of the dream. And, as before, the words, the music, gushed forth from his full heart. He put all his love, all his yearning, into the melody he sang. His voice swelled upward like the rising tide. And when it reached the full, the rapture of it touched the hearts of all who listened. The song was finished. A hush fell upon the Masters and people alike. But only for a moment; soon a glad shout arose:
"Master Singer! Master Singer!"
And Sir Walter von Stolzing knew that the victory was his.
They led him to the fair Eva and placed her hand in his. While the people waved and sang, she placed a wreath of laurel upon his head. It was his beautiful dream coming true. Then the Masters hung a chain of gold around his neck, which showed that he was a member of the guild. Sir Walter thought of the treatment that he had received the day before at the trial meeting, and he was about to refuse. But Hans Sachs arose and spoke gravely of the reverence due to the Art of Song. And Walter forgot his bitterness, and thought only of his love and future happiness with Eva by his side.
And so with the people singing,
Midsummer Day and the Song Festival came to an end.
LOHENGRIN, THE KNIGHT OF THESWAN
I
Longyears ago a maiden, fair as the morning itself, wandered through a lonely greenwood in the Duchy of Brabant. She was Elsa, only daughter of the late Duke of Brabant, who had died but a short time before this story begins.
Although Elsa was the rightful owner of all the wooded lands and fertile fields for miles and miles around, she was far from happy. Although summer lay warm and fragrant over those lands, and flowers blossomed along her pathway, yet Elsa's heart was heavy within her. She was full of sorrow. For, not long before, while walking in those self-same woods, her brother Godfrey had suddenly and unaccountably disappeared from her side.Elsa had searched and searched. She had wept, she had prayed, but all in vain. No trace of him had she found anywhere. Spent with grief and anxiety, she had run to her guardian, Frederick of Telramund, and told him the story. But Frederick had repulsed her with unkind glances and cruel words. He had even accused her of doing away with her poor brother, that she might claim the entire Duchy of Brabant for herself.
This guardian, Frederick of Telramund, knew well enough that Elsa was incapable of so foul a deed. He knew that she had loved her brother Godfrey far too well to do him harm. But Frederick had coveted the rich lands and vast possessions of Brabant for many a year. And he was determined to get them now by fair means or foul. Moreover, he had married the pagan princess Ortrud, who was every whit as evil-minded and ambitious as he. Ortrud's father, a heathen prince, had once owned part of Brabant, andthey were confident that, with Godfrey and Elsa out of the way, they could lay claim to the whole Duchy. How they plotted and schemed together against poor Elsa!
Do you wonder, then, that Elsa walked through the forest on that morning long ago, with downcast eyes, oblivious to all save her own sad thoughts? Her father was dead, her brother was gone, her guardian had proved false. To whom should she turn for guidance? Weary and perplexed, she sank down beneath the sheltering branches of a friendly tree near by. All was calm and still. Her tired eyes rested upon the deep blue dome of the sky, and thoughts of God, the All-Father, filled her mind. Ah, she could put her trust in Him. And a prayer for help arose from her heart. Perhaps it was the answer to her prayer, perhaps it was only a dream, but then and there Elsa saw a marvelous vision. The heavens opened, and disclosed a noble knight. Enveloped in heavenly light, this knight descendedto earth, and stood before Elsa. He smiled upon her, and, like a miracle, she became tranquil and unafraid. He was so strong, so stalwart, so brave! His shining white armor glittered in the sunlight. A glistening sword hung by his side, a golden horn from his shoulder. His eyes were kind. There was comfort in his voice.
"Arise!" spoke he, "and go your way. Be of good cheer, and fear not, for when your need is sorest, I will come to defend you."
Then he vanished. Elsa was alone in the greenwood.
II
Justat this time the King of all Germany came down to Brabant. With pomp and ceremony he came, bringing rough knights from Saxony and brave nobles from Thuringia, all good men and true, to bear him company.
Henry the First was he, a wise king and a just. People called him Henry the Fowlerbecause he was so fond of hunting. It may be, however, that it was not the hunt that he loved so much as the great out-of-doors, the wide plains, the wild forests, the winding rivers. Whenever he summoned his faithful subjects to discuss affairs of peace or war, he chose some meeting place under the blue sky, in God's temple, where men breathe deeply, think clearly, and judge rightly.
So, when at Brabant King Henry found no duke to greet him; when, instead, he heard of strife, of discord, and of strange whispers, he sat himself down beneath a giant oak on the bank of the winding river Scheldt. And the trumpeters blew a great blast, the herald proclaimed the King's presence, the trusty men who had come to bear him company stood at arms, while the Brabantians gathered from north and south, from east and west, of the Duchy to hearken to the King's word.
"I had come here, my good people," began the King, "to ask the aid of your forces insubduing the wild Hungarian foe. Full well do I know that as loyal German subjects you are ready to answer your country's call. But I find discord in your midst, strife and confusion. Therefore have I called you together to learn the causes thereof and to deal justly with the offenders, be it possible."
The people of Brabant were pleased with the King's words and looked to Frederick of Telramund to make answer. Frederick arose. Behind him stood his wife, the dark-haired princess Ortrud, ready to prompt him should he hesitate.
But false Frederick did not hesitate. His voice did not tremble, although he spoke with much show of grief. He made a low obeisance to the King and besought sympathy for the sad tale he was about to tell. He told how the dying Duke had intrusted Elsa and Godfrey to his care, how tenderly he had reared them, how devotedly he had loved them, and how sorely the mysterious disappearanceof Godfrey had grieved him. And then, he continued, he had been forced to believe that Elsa had murdered her brother in order to claim the whole Duchy for herself—or mayhap—for some secret lover. Therefore he, Frederick of Telramund, and his wife Ortrud, by right of inheritance, besought the King to make them Duke and Duchess of Brabant.
"An astounding story indeed!" The free-men muttered to each other. The nobles looked at Frederick and shook their heads. "The man must be sure of his proof to make such an accusation," said they, as they turned toward the King.
King Henry sat with bowed head, in deep thought. He ran his hand over his forehead, pondered a moment, and then murmured:
"So foul a deed!"
Aloud he said:
"I would see this maid. I would look upon her face. I would hear her tale. And may God guide my judgment aright."
Hanging his shield on the giant oak behind him, King Henry swore never to wear it again until justice had been done. And all the German nobles drew their swords and thrust them, points down, into the ground, swearing never to wear them again until justice had been done. And the men of Brabant laid their swords at their feet, swearing the same. Then the herald summoned Elsa.
She came, the fair-haired Elsa, clad all in white, with her train of ladies, all in white, behind her. They paused, and she, with hands clasped and eyes cast down, advanced timidly, slowly, alone, until she stood before the King. Her golden hair, unbound, hung a cloud of glory about her. How young she was! How lovely! The rough knights gazed upon her, and their eyes filled with tears. Surely no maiden with such a face could be guilty of such a crime.
The King spoke very gently. Was sheElsa of Brabant? She bowed her head. Did she know the heavy charge that had been brought against her? She bowed again. Was she willing that he, King Henry, should judge her? Once more her head was bowed in assent. And it was only when the King asked whether she was guilty of this murder that Elsa found voice. She wrung her hands piteously, and exclaimed, "Oh, my poor, poor brother!"
A dreamy look was upon Elsa's face as she told her story. Her voice trembled, and her eyes strayed over the distant hills. It was as though she saw it all again.
She told of that day in the woods, her sad walk alone, her deep grief, her utter weariness. She told of her rest beneath the friendly tree and of the blue heaven overhead. But when she told of her prayer to God for guidance in her distress, her faltering voice grew stronger, braver. Rapturously, she told of her dream, and of the noble knight whose white armorhad glittered in the sunlight, of his sword, his horn, and, last, of his promise.
"Him will I trust!" she cried. "He shall my Champion be!"
The knights, the nobles, the King, were startled. But Frederick of Telramund cried out.
"Such words do not mislead me. See! does she not speak of a secret lover? What further proof do you need? Here stand I, and here's my sword, both ready to fight for my honor."
Now since King Henry believed that God in His wisdom would surely give might to the hands that fought for Right, he asked Frederick if he were ready to fight for life or death to uphold this charge that he had brought.
Frederick answered, "Yes."
Then the King turned to Elsa, and asked her if she were willing to have her champion fight for life or death to prove her blameless.
Elsa answered, "Yes," and, to the greatastonishment of all, named her unknown knight as her champion.
"None other will I have," she said. "He will come to defend me, and upon him will I bestow my father's lands. Aye, should he deign to wed me, I will be his bride."
"Then cry out the summons," ordered the King.
The herald stepped forth with his trumpeters four. Placing one to the east and one to the west, one to the north, and one to the south, he bade them blow a great blast.
"Let him who dares to fight for Elsa of Brabant come forth!"
The trumpet's call, the herald's words, fell on the clear air. The echo sounded and resounded. There was a long pause. All was still.
The dark-haired Ortrud curled her lips scornfully, and an evil smile lit the face of Frederick of Telramund.
"Once more, O King!" implored Elsa, "once more let the summons be sounded!" and she fell upon her knees at his feet.
The King nodded. The trumpeters blew another blast. Again the herald cried out:
"Let him who dares to fight for Elsa of Brabant come forth!"
Again the notes died away on the clear air. Again the echo sounded, resounded. Another long pause. All was as still as before. Only the voice of Elsa in prayer was heard. Oh, how she prayed! Her need was great. Surely the noble knight of her dream would not fail her. God had sent him to her in the greenwood. He would send him now. She would put her trust in Him. And she bowed her head in her hands.
Suddenly the men on the river bank were seen peering eagerly into the distance. They beckoned, they waved, they whispered. Others ran to join them. And they, too, gazed, then pointed excitedly down the river. What strange sight was there? What was it thatglittered, glistened from afar? Its brightness dazzled the eyes. Ah! it was lost to view behind the curving shore. No, it appeared again. Behold a wonder! A swan, a snow-white swan was gliding gracefully toward them. It drew a boat, a silver boat. And in the boat, erect, his bright armor glittering in the sun, stood a knight. He leaned upon his sword. A helmet was on his head, a shield on his shoulder, a horn by his side. The swan drew him nearer. He approached the very bank. Oh, wondrous sight! A gallant knight had been sent by Heaven to defend the fair-haired maiden. Might had come to fight for Right.
The men were awestruck. In silence, entranced, they gazed at the swan, the boat, the Heaven-appointed knight. The King, from his seat beneath the giant oak, surveyed the scene in bewilderment. Elsa felt the excitement, heard the murmurs, still dared not lift her head. But the face of Frederick wasdark and gloomy to see, and Ortrud cowered down in terror and shuddered strangely when she beheld the snow-white swan.
The noble knight had stepped to the shore. Casting a loving look at his dear swan, he bade it a tender farewell, and watched it sadly as it glided away, over the water, around the curve, out of sight.
Then he turned. Elsa, rising, uttered a cry of joy when she saw his face. It was he! The noble knight of her dream! So strong, so stalwart, so brave! He had come. There Was naught to fear.
Solemnly, with long strides, armor glistening, sword clanking, helmet in hand, the Swan Knight advanced and stood before the King. He made a low obeisance, then announced that he had come to champion a guiltless maid who had been falsely accused of a woeful crime. He looked at Elsa.
"Elsa," he said, "do you choose me as your defender?"
"Yes," she cried.
"And if I prove victorious, will you be my bride?"
"Yes."
Surely there was little that she would not promise this noble knight who had come from afar to defend her. And Elsa threw herself at his feet, vowing to give him all she had, even her life, if need be. But the Swan Knight raised her and, looking into her eyes, asked but one promise, a strange one. If he was to defend her, if he was to be her husband, she must trust him utterly. She must never ask his name. No, she must not even think of it, or who he was, or from whence he came.
At that moment it seemed very easy for Elsa to promise so simple a thing. But the Swan Knight was very solemn, and he repeated the words slowly, saying,—
She listened carefully, then promised gladly never to doubt him, always to obey him. It was such a little thing, and was he not her shield, her angel, her preserver?
So the King arranged the fight. Three Saxons advanced for the Swan Knight, three men of Brabant for Frederick of Telramund. With three solemn paces they measured the ground. The King struck his sword three times against his shield, and the battle was on.
sang the men.
And it was so. God gave Might to the arm of the Knight. But a few passes and falsehood and deceit were vanquished. Frederick the Traitor lay prostrate on the ground with the sword of the Swan Knight pointed at his throat. Still the Knight spared hislife. He bade him go his way and sin no more.
Justice had been done. King Henry took his shield from the tree behind him. The Saxons, the Thuringians, the Brabantians, resumed their swords. God had been with them that day under the blue sky, and so amid great rejoicing they bore Elsa and her Swan Knight from the field.
III
Nighthung over the palace. Sounds of revelry, a trumpet's blast, burst from the gayly illuminated abode of the knights. But within the apartments of the Duchess Elsa all was dark and still.
Opposite stood the cathedral wherein, on the morrow, Elsa would become the Swan Knight's bride. Though the delicate spires of the cathedral pointed to a starry sky, dark shadows lurked about the portico. And in the gloom of these shadows, two figures sat, twoabject, miserable figures,—Frederick of Telramund and Ortrud his wife. Despoiled of their rich garments and shunned by all, they knew not which way to turn. Since the Stranger Knight was now Guardian of Brabant, banishment was their fate, poverty their portion.
After the manner of evildoers, each charged the other with their misfortune. False Frederick, who had been willing enough to listen to the promptings of his witch-wife, now upraided her for having used sorcery to accomplish her wicked ends. It was she who had urged him to falsehood, he said; she who had induced him to turn traitor; she who had blackened his ancient name and besmirched his honor. Stung to fury by the recital of his woes, he called her evil names. He even wished for his sword in order to strike her dead.
But Ortrud was not a sorceress for nothing. She knew how to cool his wrath. She taunted him, in turn, for showing cowardice in thefight. She called him weak of heart and feeble of purpose. She spoke thus: "Who is this Swan Knight who has vanquished the once powerful Frederick? From whence has he come? And what is his power? Only witchcraft has brought him, witchcraft and magic. And magic will take him away. If but one small point of his body can be injured, he will be helpless and at our mercy."
Frederick took heart when he heard these words. Perhaps all was not over yet. Perhaps Ortrud's black magic and his strength could be used to some purpose before the marriage day dawned. If doubt could be instilled into the mind of Elsa, if she could be made to forget her promise, the spell would be broken. Or, if the Swan Knight could be weakened, they would regain their lost power over Brabant. So they plotted and planned, heads close together, as the night wore away.
Toward morning a light glimmered in theapartments of the lovely Elsa. Soon she appeared on the balcony singing a little song.
Ortrud crept near and called to her. She called in a piteous tone, her voice full of misery. She wept loudly and begged meekly for forgiveness. She pretended a repentance for all her former misdeeds that she was far from feeling.
Elsa looked down and listened. When she beheld the once haughty Ortrud clad in rags, on her knees, her heart melted. She held out her hands in pity. That was just what the wicked Ortrud was waiting for. The rest was easy. A few more tears, a little more make-believe penitence, and she knew she would be forgiven. And sad to tell, it was so. Elsa, full of love and new-found happiness, took Ortrud into her abode. She gave her a splendid gown and allowed her to assist in the marriage preparations. And the wicked Ortrud improved her opportunities. Artfully, she turned the conversation to the approachingwedding, to the Stranger Knight who had come by magic. Was not Elsa afraid that he would just as magically disappear? But Elsa need not fear. Ortrud would always be her friend.
Elsa tried to shake off the disquiet that Ortrud's words caused. But the seed of suspicion was planted in her mind, and it grew, just as the wicked Ortrud meant that it should.
Meanwhile from his place behind the dark pillars of the cathedral, Frederick had seen the first rosy streaks of dawn appear in the East. He had heard the watchman in the tower give the signal of the new day, and he had seen the answer flash from the distant turret. Rage overwhelmed him. For he knew that Elsa's marriage morn had come.
The sleeping palace awoke to life and activity. Servants hurried to and fro preparing for the festival. The herald stepped forth followed by his trumpeters four. They summonedthe people, who came in gala array from all sides. Groups of richly clad nobles walked proudly down the palace steps and stood before the cathedral, waiting. All eyes were fixed upon the balcony before the abode of the Duchess Elsa.
All at once, a number of pages appeared there. They descended, two by two, clearing the way to the cathedral steps and crying aloud:
The crowd, hushed and expectant, fell back. Then, down the stairway, across the balcony, came a long train of fair ladies. Their satin dresses swept the ground. Bright jewels sparkled and flashed as they advanced slowly toward the cathedral steps. There they halted, ranging themselves on each side to allow the Duchess Elsa to pass between them. She, the fairest of them all, walked alone.
Her dress of richest brocade trailed its heavyfolds behind her. Ropes of pearls were about her neck, and bound her golden hair. Her head was held high, and her face was more beautiful than anything else in the world. For joy illumined it and made it shine like a star. Was she not going to meet her Knight, him whom God had sent to defend her?
Her foot was upon the lowest step. She was about to ascend to the cathedral when she was rudely pushed aside. Ortrud had sprung forward, crying,—
"Get back! I'll go first. My rank is higher than yours, and I shall not walk behind you!"
Elsa turned in astonishment. Was this the meek Ortrud who had come to her begging forgiveness, pleading repentance?
The people cried out in anger. But Ortrud, unheeding, went on:
"My husband may be in disgrace, but he is greater than you all. He will rule you yet. As for the husband you are to marry,—" and she looked at the frightened Elsa,—"whois he? What is his rank? You dare not even ask his name!"
Poor Elsa protested. She tried to say that she did not care to know her Swan Knight's name. Heaven had sent him, and she was content. His face bore the stamp of noble birth, and she would always trust him. But her voice faltered as she spoke. The seed of suspicion had taken root, and dark doubts arose to torment her.
At that moment, when the consternation was greatest, the King appeared on the palace steps. With him, in proud array, were the good men and true who had come to bear him company. And following them all was the Swan Knight. His bearing seemed nobler than ever, as he trod proudly forward to claim his bride.
But when he saw the wicked Ortrud and the false Frederick, who by this time had joined in denouncing him and questioning his name, his face clouded. King Henry,also, seeing the strife, pressed forward through the crowd, giving orders to push aside the wicked couple.
The Swan Knight took Elsa tenderly into his arms for a moment, looking deep into her eyes. Then, led by the King, the marriage procession proceeded into the cathedral.
IV
Thewedding festival was over. With flaming torches held aloft and joyous voices raised in song, the procession of ladies and nobles led the bride and bridegroom to their flower-bedecked chamber. Then, showering blessings upon them, they departed. The torchlights faded in the distance; the sound of march and song grew faint. It died away. Elsa and her Swan Knight were alone.
There was a brief silence while they gazed at each other in rapture. She, so lovely, was his inmost heart's desire. He, so brave, was the beloved Knight of her dream. Theirvoices grew soft with happiness, and on their faces was the glow of a deep joy.
Too soon, however, at the sound of her name on her lover's lips, a shade stole over Elsa's bright face. "Ah!" thought she, "I can never call him by his name, for I shall never know what it is." Then, like a flash, all of Ortrud's taunts came to her mind. And following them, all the dark doubts, the vague suspicions, arose again to torment her.
First she sat in moody silence. But soon a strange curiosity showed itself in her speech. Would the fetters that bound the Swan Knight's lips ne'er be loosened? Must she, his wife, always remain in ignorance? If he loved her truly, he would surely whisper his secret ever so softly into her ear. No one should ever know. She would guard the secret well, locking it within her very heart.
Thus she pleaded and begged, but the Swan Knight pretended not to hear her. He spoke of other things, striving to distract her mind.
But Elsa would not be put off. Her eyes were fixed upon the Knight, and her face, but lately aglow with wonder and delight, was clouded with unbelief and suspicion.
The Knight was distressed by this sudden change. He reminded her gently of the confidence that he had placed in her promise. He warned her tenderly of the sorrows that would befall if she did not cease her questioning. He had given up so much honor, yes, and glory besides, to stay by her side. Would she not trust him utterly?
Scarcely had Elsa heard the words "glory and honor" than a horrible fear seized her. "He had come by magic," Ortrud had said, "and by magic he would go." Now she knew how it would befall. Soon he would tire of her and would return to the honor and glory from which he had come. Stricken with terror, she fancied that she already heard the Swan coming to carry him away. It was too much to bear! Cost what it might, she must learn who he was.