"Ho, ho! Then farewell, art," the Mastersingers cried, indignantly. "That is a fine joke, indeed, Sachs. Pray what do the people know about art? What do they know of the singing master's rules? Bah!"
"Listen!" Sachs said, impressively. "That which the people approve, is good; they know naught of rule, but they know what beauty of song and theme is better that we. Leave it to the people's choice and you shall not rue it. Besides, a maiden's heart is to be disposed of, and those who are judges among us are not without selfish feelings. Let the people decide and leave the maiden free."
"Oh, I suppose you are thinking and speaking for yourself—a widower," Beckmesser cried, trying to belittle the shoemaker.
"So little is that so, my friends, that I shall not sing."Every one loved Hans Sachs and now recognized his generosity. "I am too old for such as she." Thereupon Beckmesser became furious, because he was older than Hans, yet he considered himself quite young enough to marry her.
"Well, my friends, there is one more piece of business: this young knight," leading forth Walther, "wishes to enter the race, and I present him with right good will." This was almost too much for the beset Beckmesser. He fairly foamed at the mouth.
"Now, I understand this matter," he muttered aside. "Pogner would have it seem that he treated us fairly in this matter, while in reality he had this handsome fellow up his sleeve. A knight at that, and if he can sing it certainly is all up with the rest of us." He loudly declared it was far too late for Walther to be let into the competition; but there were several opinions about that, and a good deal of wrangling. All were somewhat afraid of Walther, not knowing that he had no confidence in his own singing or making of verses. At last it was decided that he should have a trial that morning.
"But thou must say who has been thy master," they insisted; whereupon Walther named a great master, Sir Walther of the Vogelweid.
"In truth," Hans Sachs said, nodding kindly. "He is a great master." Hans meant to stand by the knight and to serve him if possible, because he seemed the best choice for Eva, whom Sachs loved above everything. Walther added that, for the most part, he had learned his songs from the birds, titmouses, and finches, and the like. He loved the woods and streams, and a joyous heart made him sing in spite of himself, and the song of birds was the one he loved best to imitate. The others were inclined to jeer at these words, but Hans Sachs saw in them a beautiful nature, fine poesy.
"Very well, very well, let him begin," all cried, and so the knight took his place in the singer's chair while Beckmesser, who was appointed Marker, went to his place.
"As Marker, I guess I can settle his affair for him," Beckmesser muttered, in malice. All the while Walther, was in despair, having no confidence in himself.
"It is for thee, beloved," he murmured, trying to gain courage by putting his thoughts upon Eva. Then Beckmesser, hidden behind the curtain, cried:
"Now begin."
Walther hesitated a moment, then began, uncertainly, to sing. It was a beautiful song of the spring. At the end of the first part, Beckmesser scratched horribly upon his slate, and sighed in a most disconcerting manner. Walther listened and his heart nearly failed him, but he began again. This time he sang of winter, and as he went on he became so much inspired that he forgot his tremendous anxiety, rose from his chair, and sang passionately, withabandon. When he came to a pause in the theme, Beckmesser burst into the group with his slate. It was all covered with chalk marks.
"Will you never have done," he shouted angrily. "I've no more room in which to set marks against you. If we must go on listening to such singing we must use the side of the church if we would have room to set down your mistakes." Every one but Hans Sachs burst out laughing.
"But I have not finished," Walther pleaded. "Will none of you let me finish my song, good friends? It is not fair."
"That is true, that is true, not too much zeal, Beckmesser," Hans tried to interpose. Everybody was talking at once.
"I could not understand one word of his meaning," one cried.
"There was false time, false everything; it was ridiculous!" another shouted.
"The most absurd thing I ever heard," another called. In short, every one shouted and mocked and offered suggestions, except Hans Sachs who had stood apart, and after the first notes of Walther, had listened with great earnestness. In the midst of the excitement he came forward.
"Master Beckmesser, you have gone too far. We do not all agree with your opinion. The song which you despise, I find both beautiful, new, and free from fault. It is not such as we sing, but it is true and fine. I fear you have forgotten your own rules."
"Never, never!" the Marker shouted.
"Now, friends, hear my final word. This young knight shall be heard to the end." With a decisive gesture he motioned Walther to the chair again. All shouted "No, no!" but Sachs insisted and amidst the riot and hullabaloo Walther again began his song. His clear, beautiful voice was heard above the noise, but every one was engaged in telling what they thought about it. Only Sachs stood determined, trying to quiet the frightful uproar. Beckmesser was making a terrible to-do, and the apprentices were shouting with laughter, following the lead of their masters. After a little, Walther became so confused that at last he could sing no longer.
The apprentices began to dance wildly about their masters, and in the midst of the extraordinary scene, the knight descended from the chair, and turned away with a contemptuous glance. He was about to go, as the Mastersingers were struggling toward the door; but toadd to the confusion the apprentices who had torn up the benches began marching about with them. While Walther, the Mastersingers, and the apprentices were struggling out, Sachs stood looking at the singer's chair, where Walther had lately sat, singing so beautifully that none but the splendid Sachs, with his good soul and his poetic nature, had been able to understand how great it was.
Nightof the same day came on, and David and other apprentices were putting up the shutters of their masters' houses, before it became too late. Hans Sachs's house—which was also his workshop—stood in a corner made by a little crooked path which crossed a Nuremberg street; while Pogner's house, much finer—altogether quite grand—stood opposite. Beside Hans's house grew an elder tree, and beside Pogner's, a lime. Magdalene, very anxious to know from David what had taken place in the church, had gone from her master's house with a little basket of the good things which David liked. This gave her a good excuse to seek him.
"What happened to the handsome knight?" she inquired, standing on Hans's side of the way, and speaking with David.
"Why what should happen? He was rejected, of course," David answered sulkily, while all the other apprentice boys laughed at him because Magdalene, his sweetheart, was trying to pump him.
"Ho, ho! Then you get nothing out of my basket," she answered, walking off. Again the boys mocked him, and he grew very angry, telling them to be off about their business. The quarrel grew so loud that finally Sachs,coming home unexpectedly, burst into the midst of them and scattered them.
"What is all this?" he cried.
"The rascals are plaguing me, master," David growled.
"Well, get thee within and light the lamp; lock up and bring the lamp here to me; after that, put the shoes on the lasts and go"; and as David went into the workshop to obey, Sachs followed. At that moment, Eva and her father passed along the path, and seeing the light in Sachs's house, Pogner peeped through the chink of the door.
"If Sachs is there I shall stop in and speak with him," he said to Eva. David just then came from the house with a lamp which he placed upon the work-bench, and seating himself began work upon a pair of shoes.
"To-morrow will be a fine day for the festival," Pogner said to his daughter, as they seated themselves upon a stone bench, on their own side of the path.
"But, father, must I certainly marry the best singer?" Eva asked anxiously.
"Not unless he pleases thee; but in case he does not, Eva, I have decided that thou shalt marry no other." He was interrupted by Magdalene who came to bid them to supper. Eva lingered behind to get a private word with her.
"What about the knight? Did he succeed?" she asked so anxiously that it broke Magdalene's heart to tell her the truth.
"David said not—but he would not tell what had happened."
"Maybe I can learn from Hans Sachs; he loves me very much, and may feel some distress over my trouble. I shall ask him." Just then Sachs came to the door of his house.
"Come, boy," he said to David, "put up thy work for the night, and get thee to bed; to-morrow will be a busy day. Put my stool and table outside the door that I may finish a pair of shoes, and then get thee to bed." David gathered up his tools, and after arranging Sachs's work bade him good night. Sachs sat down, with his hands behind his head, and instead of going at once to work, began to think upon the day's happenings—and other things, maybe. He leaned his arms upon the lower half of the door and sometimes spoke his thoughts aloud:
"Truly the young knight is a poet," he mused. Hans himself was a true poet, tender and loving, and he could think of nothing but Eva's good. Becoming nervous and apprehensive while thinking of her he began to hammer at a shoe, but again he ceased to work and tried to think. "I still hear that strain of the young knight's" and he tried to recall some part of the song. While he mused thus alone, Eva stole shyly over to the shop. It had now become quite dark and the neighbours were going to bed.
"Good evening, Master Sachs! You are still at work?" she asked softly. Hans started.
"Yes, my child, my dear Evchen. I am still at work. Why are you still awake? Ah, I know—it is about your fine new shoes that you have come, those for to-morrow!"
"Nay, they look so rich and fine, I have not even tried them on."
"Yet to-morrow you must wear them as a bride, you know."
"Whose shoes are these that you work upon, Master Sachs," she asked, wishing to change the subject.
"These are the shoes of the great Master Beckmesser,"Sachs answered, smiling a little at the thought of the bumptious old fellow.
"In heaven's name put plenty of pitch in them, that he may stick, and not be able to come after me," she cried.
"What—you do not favour Beckmesser, then?"
"That silly old man," she said scornfully.
"Well, there is a very scanty batch of bachelors to sue for thee, or sing for thee," Hans answered, looking lovingly at her, with a little smile.
"Well, there are some widowers," Eva said returning his friendly look. Hans laughed outright.
"Ah, dear Evchen, it is not for an old chap like me to snare a young bird like thee. At the trial to-day, things did not go well," he ventured, trying to turn the conversation.
Instantly Eva was all attention, and she got from him the story of Walther's failure and unfair treatment, just as Magdalene called from the house over the way.
"St—st," she whispered. "Thy father has called for thee."
"I'll come presently," Eva answered. Then to Hans: "But tell me, dear Hans, was there not one who was his friend? Is there no hope?"
"No master has hope among other masters," Hans replied, sorrowfully. "I fear there is nothing for him but to give thee up." Hans knew well that Eva loved the knight.
"What man has a friend, whose own greatness makes other men feel small?" he asked still more sadly. "It is the way with men."
"It is shameful," she cried angrily, and hurried across the street. Hans closed the upper half of his door, sothat he was almost shut in, and only a little light showed through.
"Eva," Magdalene called at the house door, "that Beckmesser has been here to say he is coming to serenade you, and to win your love. Did ever one hear of such a ridiculous rascal."
"I will not hear him," Eva declared angrily. "I will not. I am going to see Walther to-night, and I will not see Beckmesser. Look out and see if any one is coming." Walther was at that moment coming round the corner of the path, and Eva rushed toward him.
"You have heard—that I may not sing to win thee?" he said under his breath, for fear Pogner should hear him. At that moment the horn of the Night Warder was heard, which assured them that the town was all quiet and people gone to bed.
"It does not matter, I have made up my mind. I will never give the victor's crown to any one but thee, and so we shall flee together—this night, at once, before it is too late." Walther, beside himself with joy, looked after her while she hurried into the house to get ready for flight. The Night Warder came round the house corner.
He blew a long loud blast upon his trumpet.
Hans Sachs had heard the plan concocted between the lovers, from behind his nearly closed door; so he put out the lamp, that he might not be seen, and opened his door a little way. He could never permit them to elope; it would cause no end of trouble. After a moment Evaand Magdalene came from Pogner's house with a bundle, while at the same moment Walther came from the shadow of the lime tree to meet them. They were hurrying off together when the clever shoemaker caught up his lamp from its place of concealment and turned it full upon the alley-way, so that it shone directly upon the path of the lovers.
Eva and Walther found themselves standing together in a bright light, when they had thought to escape unseen in the darkness. Again the Warder's horn was heard at a distance.
"Oh, good gracious! We shall be caught," Eva whispered, frightened half to death, as Walther drew her out of the streaming light.
"Which way shall we go?" he whispered, uneasily.
"Alas! look there—at that old rascal, Beckmesser," she returned, distracted with fright and anger, as she saw the old fool come in sight with his lute strung over his shoulder, while he twanged it lightly.
The moment Hans saw Beckmesser he had a new thought. He withdrew the light a little and opened the door. Then in the half light he placed his bench in the doorway and began to work upon a pair of shoes.
"It is that horrible Marker who counted me out this morning," Walther murmured, looking at Beckmesser as he stole along the pathway. Then almost at once, Beckmesser began to bawl under Eva's window.
He looked up where he supposed her to be, in the most languishing manner, so that Walther and Eva would have laughed outright, if they had not been in such a coil.
He no sooner had struck the first notes, than Hans Sachs gave a bang upon his shoe-last. Thus began an awful scrimmage. Hans Sachs, disliking the absurdold Beckmesser as much, if not more, than others did, banged away at Beckmesser's shoes, in a most energetic way. He made such a frightful din that Beckmesser could hardly hear himself sing.
The town clerk tried by every device to stop the shoemaker,—to get him to put aside his cobbling for the night, but Hans answered that he had to work lively if he hoped to get the shoes done for the fête. Beckmesser did not dare tell why he was there, singing at that hour. Walther and Eva remained prisoners under the lime tree, wondering what on earth to do. After a while, poor Beckmesser, making the most frantic efforts to hear his own voice, pleaded with Hans to stop.
"I'll tell thee what to do—it will make the time pass pleasantly for me as well, you see," Hans cried. "Do thou go ahead and sing, and I'll be Marker. For every mistake of thine, I'll hammer the shoe. Of course there will be so few mistakes that there will then be but little pounding." Beckmesser caught at that suggestion. Of course it was imprudent, but then Beckmesser was in a bad way, and it was his only chance. So he began his serenade once more. Then Hans began to "mark" him. Before he had sung a line, Hans's hammer was banging away in the most remarkable manner. Even Walther and Eva had to laugh, frightened as they were. Beckmesser became so furious he could hardly speak. Sachs pretended to see nothing, and "marked" away valiantly. Then the Night Watch could be heard coming. Hans banged louder. Beckmesser put his fingers in his ears, that he might drown the sound of Hans and the Warder, and keep on the key. Hans too began to sing as he waxed his threads and banged upon his shoes. Meantime windows were going up, the people who had gone to bed having wakened.
"Stop your bawling there," one shouted.
"Leave off howling," another screamed.
"What's the matter? Have you gone crazy down there," others yelled, but Beckmesser still shrieked, unable to hear anybody but himself and Hans.
"Listen to that donkey bray," a neighbour called.
"Hear the wild-cat," another bawled; and in the midst of the singing Magdalene stuck her head out of the window. Beckmesser, thinking it was Eva, was encouraged to keep on, but David, who had come out at the rumpus, believed that Beckmesser was serenading Magdalene, and instantly became jealous. So out he rushed with a cudgel. The neighbours then began to come from their houses in their night-gowns and caps; some wearing red flannel about their heads and some in very short gowns, and all looking very funny. Meanwhile, Hans, who had got the row started, withdrew into his house and shut the door. Walther and Eva were still trembling under the lime tree, sure of being discovered, now that all Nuremberg was aroused and on the spot.
Beckmesser was surrounded by the neighbours, the apprentices came from every shop to swell the crowd, also the journeymen, while all the women bawled from the house windows where they were hanging out half way. David and Beckmesser were wrestling all over the place, Beckmesser's lute being smashed and his clothes torn off him. At last the Mastersingers themselves arrived.
Walther, at last deciding that the time had come when he must rescue Eva, drew his sword and rushed forth. Hans, who had been watching behind his door, then ranout, pushed his way through the mob and caught Walther by the arm. At that moment—Poof! Bist! the women in the windows threw down buckets of water over all the people, and Beckmesser was half drowned in the streams. This added to the confusion, so that Hans grasped Walther, and Pogner his daughter; Sachs and Walther retired into Sachs's house and Eva was dragged within her own. As Sachs disappeared, he gave David a kick which sent him flying, to pay him for his part in the fight.
Beckmesser, battered half to pieces, limped off, while the crowd, dripping wet and with ardour cooled, slunk out. When all was perfectly quiet and safe, and not a sound stirring, on came the Night Warder. It was comical to see the way he looked all about the deserted place, as if he had been taking a little nap, while all Nuremberg had been fighting like wild-cats, and he quavered out in a shaky voice:
He finished with a long-drawn cry:
Praise ye God, the Lord,
and all was still.
Themorning of the song festival dawned clear and fine. Early in the morning, Hans Sachs seated himself in his shop, beside his sunny window, his work on the bench before him, but he let it go unheeded as he fellto reading. David found his master thus employed when he stole into the shop, after peeping to make sure that Hans would pay no attention to him. David was not at all sure of the reception his master would give him after the riot in which he had taken a hand the night before. As Hans did not look up, David set the basket he carried upon the table, and began to take out the things in it. First there were flowers and bright-coloured ribbons, and at the very bottom a cake and a sausage. He was just beginning to eat the sausage when Hans Sachs turned a page of his book noisily. David, knowing his guilty part in the fight, looked warily at his master.
"Master, I have taken the shoes to Beckmesser and——" Sachs looked at him abstractedly.
"Do not disturb our guest, Sir Walther," he said, seeming to forget David's misbehaviour. "Eat thy cakes and be happy—only do not wake our guest."
Soon David went out while Sachs still sat thinking of the situation and half decided to take a part in the contest himself—since it were a shame to have Beckmesser win Eva. While he was thus lost in contemplation, Walther woke and came from his room.
"Ah, dear Hans—I have had a glorious dream," he cried. "It is so splendid that I hardly dare think of it."
"Can it be thou hast dreamed a song?" Sachs asked breathlessly.
"Even if I had, what help would it bring me, friend Sachs, since the Mastersingers will not treat me fairly?"
"Stay, stay, Walther, not so fast! I want to say of yesterday's experience: the Mastersingers are, after all, men of honour. They were hard on thee yesterday, but thou hast troubled them much. Thy song was as strange, its kind as new to them as it was beautiful, and they have thought of it again and again since then. If they can make themselves familiar with such beauty they will not fail to give thee credit. I own I am much troubled and know not what to do for you."
"I wonder could it be possible that I have had an inspiration in my sleep that might lead me to win my dear Eva?" the knight said, taking heart.
"That we shall soon know. Sir Walther, stand thou there, and sing thy song, and I will sit here and write it down. So it shall not escape thee. Come, begin, Sir Knight," Sachs cried, becoming hopeful for the young man. Trembling with anxiety Walther took his stand and began his song, while Hans placed himself at the table to write it down.
music
music
[Listen]
As the knight sang he became more and more inspired and when he had finished Hans Sachs was wild with delight.
"It is true!—you have had a wonderful inspiration. Go now to your room, and there you will find clothing gay enough for this great occasion. No matter how it came there!—it is there! I have all along believed in you, and that you would sing, and I have provided for it." The knight went rejoicing to put on his new clothes.
Now Hans, when he went with Walther to his bedroom, had left the manuscript of the great song upon the table, and no sooner had he gone out than Beckmesser, looking through the window and finding the place empty, slipped in. He was limping from the effects of the fight and altogether cut a most ridiculous figure. He was very richly dressed, but that did not conceal his battered appearance. Every step he took he rubbed first his back and then his shins. He should have been in bed and covered with liniments. Suddenly he espied the song upon Hans's table. He believed that after all Hans was going to sing, and if he should, all would be up with himself. Wild with rage, Beckmesser picked up the song and stuffed it into his pocket. No sooner had he done so than the bedroom door opened, and Hans Sachscame out in gala dress, ready for the festival; seeing Beckmesser, he paused in surprise.
"What, you? Sir Marker? Surely those shoes of yours do not give you trouble so soon?"
"Trouble! The devil! Such shoes never were. They are so thin, I can feel the smallest cobblestone through them. No matter about the shoes, however—though I came to complain to you about them—for I have found another and far worse cause of complaint. I thought you were not to sing."
"Neither am I."
"What, you deny it—when I have just found you out!" Beckmesser cried in a foaming rage. Hans looked at the table and saw that the manuscript was gone. He grinned.
"So, you took the song, did you?" he asked.
"The ink was still wet."
"True, I'll be bound!"
"So then I've caught you deceiving!"
"Well, at least you never caught me stealing, and to save you from the charge I'll just give you that song," Hans replied, still smiling. Beckmesser stared at him.
"I'll warrant you have the song by heart," he said, narrowly eyeing the shoemaker.
"No, that I haven't. And further than that, I'll promise you not to lay any claim to it that shall thwart your use of it—if you really want it." Hans spoke carelessly, watching the greedy town clerk from the tail of his eye.
"You mean truly, that I may use that song as I like?"
"Sing it if you like—and know how," Sachs said obligingly.
"A song by Hans Sachs!" he exclaimed, unable to hide his joy—because no one in Nuremberg could possibly write a song like Sachs. "Well, well, this is very decent of you, Sachs! I can understand how anxious you are to make friends with me, after your bad treatment last night." Beckmesser spoke patronizingly, while his heart was fairly bursting with new hope. Any song by Hans Sachs would certainly win him the prize, even if he could but half sing it.
"If I am to oblige you by using this song," he hesitated, "then swear to me you will not undo me by laying claim to it." After all, he was feeling considerable anxiety about it. That he should be saved in this manner was quite miraculous.
"I'll give my oath never to claim it so long as I live," Sachs answered earnestly, thinking all the while what a rascal Beckmesser was. "But, friend Beckmesser, one word; I am no scoffer, but truly, knowing the song as I do, I have my doubts about your being able to learn it in an hour or so. The song is not easy."
"Have no fear, Hans Sachs. As a poet, your place is first, I know; but believe me, friend, when it comes to 'tone' and 'mode,' and the power to sing, I confess I have no fear—nor an equal," the conceited ass declared. "I tell you, confidentially, I have now no fear of that presumptuous fellow, Walther. With this song and my great genius, we shall no longer fear his bobbing upon the scene and doing harm." Assured of success at last, away went Beckmesser, limping and stumbling, to learn his song.
"Well, never did I see so malicious a fellow," Hans declared, as Beckmesser stumbled out of sight. "And there comes Evchen—hello, my Evchen, thou art dressedvery fine. Well, well, it is to be thy wedding day, to be sure."
"Yes—but the shoe pinches," she said putting her little foot upon the bench.
"That will never do. That must be fixed," Hans answered gravely, his eyes twinkling. He fell to examining the shoes. "Why, my child, what is wrong with it? I find it a very fine fit?"
"Nay, it is too broad."
"Tut, tut, that is thy vanity. The shoe fits close, my dear."
"Well, then I think it is the toes that hurt—or maybe the heel, or maybe—" she looked all about, hoping to see Walther. At that moment he entered, and Eva cried out. Then Hans said:
"Ah, ah! Ho, ho! That is where the shoe pinches, eh? Well, be patient, that fault I shall mend very soon," he declared, thinking of the song that Beckmesser had stolen, while he took off the shoe and sat once more at his bench. Then he said slyly:
"Lately I heard a beauteous song. I would I might hear its third verse once more." Immediately, Walther, looking at Eva, began softly to sing the famous song. As it magically swelled, Sachs came to her and again fitted the shoes. When the song was rapturously finished, Eva burst into hysterical sobbing, and threw herself into the shoemaker's arms. But this scene was interrupted by the coming of Lena and David, all dressed for the fête.
"Come, just in time!" Sachs cried. "Now listen to what I have to say, children. In this room, a song has just been made by this knight, who duly sang it before me and before Eva. Now, do not forget this, I chargeyou; so let us be off to hear him christened a Mastersinger."
All then went out into the street except David, who lingered a moment to fasten up the house. All the way to the meadow where the fête was to be held were sounding trumpets and horns, glad shouts and laughter. Very soon the little group from Sachs's reached the fête, and there they found a gala sight.
Many guilds had arrived and were constantly arriving. Colours were planted upon the raised benches which each guild occupied by itself. A little stream ran through the meadow, and upon its waters boats were continually being rowed, full of laughing men and women, girls and boys. As each new guild disembarked, it planted its colours. Refreshment stands were all about, and apprentices and journeymen were having great sport.
The apprentices and girls began a fine dance, while the people kept landing at the dock and coming from their boats.
There came the bakers, the tailors, and the smiths; then the informal gaiety came to a sudden pause and the cry went up that the great Mastersingers themselves had arrived. They disembarked and formed a long procession, Kothner going ahead bearing the banner, which had the portrait of King David and his harp upon it.
At sight of the banner all waved their hats, while the Masters proceeded to their platform.
When they had reached their place, Pogner led Eva forward, and at the same moment Hans Sachs arrived and again all waved and cheered loudly. Eva took the place of honour, and behind them all was—Beckmesser, wildly struggling to learn his great song. He kept takingthe manuscript from his pocket and putting it back, sweating and mumbling, standing first on one of his sore feet and then upon the other, a ridiculous figure, indeed.
At length, Sachs stood up and spoke to those who had welcomed him so graciously.
"Friends, since I am beloved of thee, I have one favour to ask. The prize this day is to be a unique one, and I ask that the contest be open. It is no more than fair, since so much is to be won. I ask that no one who shall ask for a chance to sing for this fair prize be denied. Shall this be so?"
While he waited for an answer, every one was in commotion.
"Say, Marker," he asked of Beckmesser, "is this not as it should be?"
That rascal was wiping his face from which the sweat was streaming and trying in despair to conquer the knight's song.
"You know you need not sing that song unless you wish," Hans reminded him, aside.
"My own is abandoned, and now it is too late for me to make another," Beckmesser moaned; "but with you out of the contest—well, I shall surely win with anything. You must not desert me now."
"Well, let it be agreed," Hans cried aloud, "that the contest shall be open to all; so now begin."
"The oldest first," Kothner cried, thus calling attention to the age of Beckmesser. "Begin, Beckmesser," another shouted.
"Oh, the devil," Beckmesser moaned, trying to peep again at the song which he had not been able to learn. He desperately ascended the mound which was reserved for the singers, escorted by an apprentice. He stumbledand nearly fell, so excited was he, and so frightened at his plight, for he did not know the song, and he had none of his own. Altogether he was in a bad way—but he was yet to be in a worse!
"Come and make this mound more firm," he snarled, nearly falling down. At that everybody laughed. Finally he placed himself, and all waited for him to begin. This is how he sang the words of the first stanza:
Only compare this with the words of the song as Walther sang them! The music matched the words for absurdity.
"Good gracious! He's lost his senses," one Mastersinger said to another. Beckmesser, realizing that he was not getting the song right, became more and more confused. He felt the amazement of the people, and that made him desperate. At last, half crazed with rage and shame, he pulled the song from his pocket and peeped at it. Then he tried again, but turned giddy, and at last tottered down from the mound, while people began to jeer at him. Hans Sachs might have been sorry for the wretch, had he not known how dishonest he had been, willing to use another's song that he might gain the prize.
Beckmesser rushed furiously toward Sachs and shook his fist at him:
"Oh, ye accursed cobbler! Ye have ruined me," he screamed, and rushing madly away he lost himself in the crowd. In his rage, he had screamed that the song wasSachs's, but nobody would believe him, because, as Beckmesser had sung it, it had sounded so absurd.
Sachs took the manuscript quietly up, after Beckmesser had thrown it down.
"The song is not mine," he declared. "But I vow it is a most lovely song, and that it has been sung wrong. I have been accused of making this, and now I deny it. I beg of the one who wrote it to come forth now and sing it as it should be sung. It is the song of a great master, believe me, friends and Mastersingers. Poet, come forth, I pray you," he called, and then Walther stepped to the mound, modestly. Every one beheld him with pleasure. He was indeed a fine and gallant-looking fellow.
"Now, Masters, hold the song; and since I swear that I did not write it, but know the one who did—let my words be proved. Stand, Sir Knight, and prove my truth." Then Kothner took the manuscript that the Mastersingers might follow the singing and know if the knight was honest; and Walther, standing in the singers' place, began the song a little fearfully.
The Masters following him recognized the truth of all that Hans Sachs had spoken, and presently dropped the paper in amazement. They became lost in listening to the music, which swelled higher and higher, growing more and more beautiful with every measure, till all the people of Nuremberg sat spellbound. At last:
"His prize, his prize!" they shouted; and Pogner came to him weeping with joy.
"It is thy doing," Walther said tremblingly to Hans; and then he was conducted to where Eva awaited him. He stooped and she placed the victor's wreath upon his head. But that was not the end. The Mastersingers turned to Pogner:
"Herr Pogner, it is thy right to crown the knight who has won this prize," and with that Pogner hung a golden chain about Walther's neck, from which was suspended three medals. Walther would have refused it.
"I have a dearer prize than this, my friends," he cried, looking at Eva.
"Nay, take thy chain, too," Sachs urged him, smiling. "That shall be the sign of the Mastersingers' approval." Walther bowed his head and received the chain, while the people stood up and shouted.
Thus in one day, the knight, Walther von Stolzing, became a bridegroom and a Mastersinger.
Lohengrin, Knight of the Holy Grail.Henry I, King of Germany.Frederick of Telramund, a noble of Brabant.The Royal Herald.Gottfried, Elsa's brother, and mute.Four nobles of Brabant.Elsa von Brabant.Ortrud, wife of Telramund.Four pages.
Saxons, nobles of Brabant, ladies, and pages.
The story is laid in Antwerp, during the first half of the tenth century.
First production at Weimar, Germany, August 28, 1850.
Composer: Richard Wagner.
On ameadow on the banks on the river Scheldt, King Henry and his Saxon nobles were one day assembled in their hall of justice, which in those times was beneath a broad-spreading oak. From another petty German political division had come Frederick of Telramund, with his wife Ortrud. In turn they were surrounded by their own retainers from their province, but all were assembled at King Henry's call to rally in defence of the Kingdom.
When all were awaiting Henry's will, his Herald stepped forth and blew a blast upon his trumpet.
"Hark! Princes, Nobles, Freemen of Brabant! Our sovereign has called ye all to rally to his defence. May he count upon the loyalty of all?"
At once, the nobles took up the cry, and welcomed their sovereign to the country. Then King Henry thanked them for their good will and made the following announcement:
"Nobles, Freemen, all! I come not only to receive this welcome, but to tell ye that Germany is in danger of invasion from the Hungarian hordes; and that upon our frontiers there are German wives and children praying for our protecting arms. As the nation's guardian it is fitting that I make an end of this misrule which has left us threatened again and again by this lawless people. As ye will recall, I made a nine years' truce with our enemies, when they last tormented us; and now the time is past, they demand a tribute which, for the sake of our people, I have refused them. It is time for us to up and arm against them, and once for all defeat them."
Henry spoke earnestly, with evident devotion to his subjects, and both Saxons and Brabantians responded, but the men of Brabant looked to their immediate Lord, Frederick of Telramund, for assent. He hesitated a moment, and then stepped before the King.
"Great King," he said, "thou art here to judge, to listen to the differences of thy people, to make wrong right, so far as in thee lies, and on my part I will not stoop to falsehood. I have a grievance. Thou knowest when death took away our beloved Duke, his children, Elsa and Gottfried, were left in my charge. I became their guardian. I treasured them and guarded their interests valiantly; but one day, the two wandered forthinto the forest. In time Elsa, the elder, returned, trembling and seemingly full of fear. She was alone, and when questioned about the safety of her young brother could tell us nothing. We sought for him, but never found him. She pretended to be in great distress, but her manner betrayed her guilt; of that I am certain. There were but they two, alone, and yet she could give us no intelligent story of his disappearance. A horror of the young girl fell upon me. I could not bear her in my sight, because I felt she was responsible for her young brother's death. Her hand had been offered me in marriage by her father, but feeling that she was guilty, I gave her up. I could not have married one who, in my mind, was so wicked. Therefore I have chosen another wife, Ortrud of Radbod." As he spoke, he brought his wife before the King and she made an obeisance.
"Now, my sovereign, I here charge the Lady Elsa with the crime, and ask thee to punish her as may be fitting. I also claim that as a fratricide she has forfeited her claim to all her lands; and as her nearest kinsman, I claim them." There ensued a painful silence, because the Lady Elsa of Brabant was a beautiful and gentle creature, and it was difficult for any one to believe such a monstrous story of her. Then arose a great outcry against the statement.
"Telramund, what hast thou said? This is a dreadful accusation."
"A fearful thing, indeed, Frederick," the good King protested.
"But if thou wilt consider, great King, there is cause for my belief. The maid, believing herself sole sovereign of Brabant, now that the boy was dead, became dreamy and strange, thinking upon some other with whomshe might wish to share both her fortune and her power. Me she disdained, after her younger brother was gone."
The just King became very thoughtful for a time, then he said sadly:
"Summon the accused maid, and all of ye prepare to utter a just judgment. Heaven help me to judge her rightly!"
The Herald again sounded his trumpet.
"Dost thou determine to hold thy court of judgment here, O King?"
"Aye! I will not rest beneath my shield until the truth is sifted." Then all the Saxon nobles, who had instantly bared their swords, struck them against the earth, but those of Brabant laid theirs flat upon the ground.
"Appear, ye royal maid, appear!" the Herald cried, and slowly from behind the crowd of nobles the beautiful Elsa appeared. She left the ladies of her court behind her, and stood forth quite alone.
"Behold!" all cried. "See how her face is clouded with sorrow!" She appeared so beautiful and innocent that no one could believe in her guilt.
The King asked her if she were willing to recognize him as her sovereign and to abide by his judgment, and she bowed her head.
"Dost thou know the crime with which thou art charged?" he asked. Elsa looked toward Ortrud and Telramund, and bowed her head. "Canst thou deny the accusation?" he demanded in a kind voice. She shook her head, sadly, for she was without defence.
"Then dost thou confess thy guilt?" he persisted, but her only answer was:
"Oh, my poor brother!" All those present looked sorrowfully at her. The King was much touched by her hopeless bearing.
"Come, Lady, confide freely in thy sovereign."
Then she stood alone and told what she knew had happened, as if she were speaking in a dream.
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Thus she sang, while all present looked at her in amazement.
"She dreams!" they cried.
"Frederick of Telramund," the King cried, "it ishard to believe wrong of this maiden. Think, while yet there is time, of what ye say! Do not let any hate in thy heart make thee wrong a defenceless girl," he cautioned, while all the nobles protested that it seemed impossible she could have done so foul a thing as that of which she was accused.
"Her dreamy mood may deceive thee," Frederick said, "but it has never deceived me. Do ye not hear that she raves about a lover? I declare that I have spoken truly, and who will dare give me the lie?" Whereupon all the nobles of Brabant came forward to uphold their Lord.
"We stand by thee, Frederick of Brabant," they cried.
"I have always known thee to be honourable," the King replied, turning his eyes sadly upon Elsa, who still stood gazing ahead of her, as if half dreaming, or maybe seeing the vision she had described.
"Elsa of Brabant, I have no choice but to let Heaven decide for thee. I have no proof of thy guilt or innocence. This knight Frederick is known to me as an honourable man, and I cannot slight his word, so Heaven alone can help thee." The King drew his sword and struck it against the ground.
"Answer me, Frederick, wilt thou do battle here with whoever may appear to defend this Lady?"
"I will, right valiantly," he answered, his wife urging him on to all that he said.
"And thou, Elsa, wilt thou name thy champion, and leave thy honour in his hands?"
"Aye," she answered, simply.
"Then name the man," the King demanded.
"Now we shall hear the name of her lover," Frederick said hastily. "It will surely be he who was her accomplice."
"To whomsoever will defend me I will give all my lands and love," she answered firmly, waiting for some knight to stand out from the others, and declare for her cause and defence.
Each looked at the other, but no one spoke or moved. Then the King cried:
"Sound the trumpet! Call the warrior knight by thy bugle!" The Herald advanced with four trumpeters, whom he turned toward north, south, east, and west, and had them sound their trumps.
"Who will here do battle for Elsa of Brabant," he shouted. No one answered and the lonely, defenceless Elsa looked about pitifully, in great anxiety.
"Ah, ye see how poor a cause she hath!" Frederick called, pointing to her.
"Dear sovereign, once again I beg the right to call for a defender. My knight dwells afar off, and cannot arrive at once."
"Again sound thy trumpets," the King directed the Herald, and again they called to the four points of the compass. Still all was silent. Then Elsa sank upon her knees, while the ladies of her court came forward to crowd protectingly about her because they loved her very much. She prayed earnestly that some defender might come to her, and so affected were all present, except Frederick and his wife, that all joined in her prayer.
Then a strange thing happened; those standing nearest the water's edge saw a boat coming up the river, drawn by a lovely swan. In the boat stood a handsome knight, so beautiful and kind of face, and so glittering with silver armour, that they fairly held their breath in admiration.
"See!" they cried. "Some one—a marvellous manappears upon the river." All the others, excepting Elsa, who remained upon her knees, went back to the river's edge to look.
"Oh, he is a brave knight—he stands in the prow—his armour gleams like the sun—a swan draws him. He wears a helmet of light upon his brow. He is nearing the shore!—He has golden reins upon his swan." All but the King, Telramund, Ortrud, and Elsa were crowding about the river's bank, to see the glorious sight.
Frederick and Ortrud were frightened, and cast strange looks of fear at each other; the King rose from his seat to see; but Elsa, overcome with joy, remained where she was, not even looking around.
"It is a miracle wrought among us," the nobles cried, and all the ladies of the court fell upon their knees.
The gorgeous knight drew to the shore. He wore his shield upon his back, a little silver horn at his side, and he glittered and gleamed in his beautiful armour in a way almost sufficient to blind one. The people fell back to let him land, and Frederick looked frightened, while the moment Ortrud saw the swan she was for some reason seized with a terrible fright. As everybody bowed their heads, having doffed their helmets, Elsa looked around and gave one great cry of joy at the sight of her champion, who was the knight of her dream.
Lohengrin—for it was he—stepped from his boat, and with one foot upon the shore and one upon his boat gave thanks to his swan for having borne him so swiftly and safely.
"Now, thou trusty swan, return at once to that landwhence we came, and rejoice, for thy task is over." After he had bade it farewell, the stately swan slowly sailed away.
Lohengrin came toward the King and bowed low.
"Hail! gracious sovereign. Thy name shall ever stand proudly in this land. I have come to fight for this dear maid's honour. I ask her, before thee all, if she will entrust to me her fame?" Elsa, so tender and confiding, sank upon her knees before him.
"If thou wilt protect me I am thine forever," she answered.
"I must ask of thee one promise in return, dear maid. It is this: If I win the fight in thy cause, and thou become my bride, never, as thou dost love me, must thou ask whence I came. I must never be asked by thee my name or race. This one promise alone must I crave of thee." He waited hopefully for her answer.
His appearance was so noble that none could doubt him, and she answered instantly:
"There is no doubt of thee in my heart, dear defender. I will never question thee. I will ever cherish thy command." He raised her to her feet, and embraced her.
"I shall guard and love thee always," Lohengrin answered, and led her to the King who gave her into his charge. After that he stepped into the midst of the crowd of nobles.
"I want you all to know that this maid is innocent. The tales of Frederick of Telramund are false, and now I shall prove it by vanquishing him in the fight. Great King, command us to begin." The company drew back to their places, and the King commanded six knights to measure a certain space upon each side, which he declared was a fenced field for the combat. Three Saxonnobles advanced for Lohengrin and three Brabantians for Frederick. When they had formed a circle, all stuck their spears into the ground and waited.
The Herald declared that any one who interfered should lose his head. He also declared that neither combatant should use magic arts in fighting. The King stepped into the circle made for the fighters, and prayed to Heaven to let the right conquer; to give the champion of the right a stronger arm and more skill than his enemy.
The six men forming the circle stood beside their spears which were stuck into the ground; the other nobles and freemen formed a larger circle outside the battle ground, while Elsa and her ladies stood in front, beneath the oak tree beside the King, and the fighters prepared to enter the circle. The King struck his sword three times upon his great shield which hung upon the tree, as a signal to begin. At the first stroke the fighters entered the circle; at the second stroke they raised their shields and drew their swords; at the third stroke they began the fight. After a mighty battle, Frederick fell, and Lohengrin placed the point of his sword at his throat.
"I shall spare thee, Frederick of Telramund. Repent in peace," he said, standing aside that Telramund might get up from the ground. The six men drew their spears from the ground, and the others who had taken sides put their swords back into their scabbards, while Elsa rushed into the knight's arms. The King cried to Lohengrin:
"Hail!" As Elsa sank upon the knight's breast, she sang of her love for him and of her faith, and all rejoiced in having her innocence proven, except Ortrud. She, indeed, looked dark and menacing.
"How comes my power to naught?" she questionedof her husband aside, for in reality she was a wicked enchantress, who had lived in the wood near to Frederick. Her wicked magic had turned him into a bad man, and it was she who had made him accuse Elsa.
But the fear and resentment of those wicked people made little impression upon the crowd of exultant nobles. The King banished Frederick and his wife, ordering them immediately to leave the place, while plans for the wedding of Elsa and Lohengrin were being made. Frederick fell senseless upon the ground, and the youths, spreading their mantles upon the shield of the King, hoisted Elsa upon it, and a rejoicing procession of ladies, knights, and retainers moved away.
In thegreat palace of King Henry I, at Antwerp, there were two parts, called the Palas, and the Kemenate. The former was where the knights lived, and the latter was the home of the ladies of the court. Late on the night of the battle between Frederick and Lohengrin, Frederick and his wife, Ortrud, were sitting without the palace, which was brightly illuminated, thinking of the misfortunes their wickedness had brought upon them. They were dressed in the garments of outcasts, as the King had commanded, and especially was Frederick gazing at the brightly lighted part where the knights were doubtless making merry since the wedding of Lohengrin and Elsa was to be on the morrow. He knew that had he been an honest man, he would have been among them and happy.
Music could be heard floating from the palace windows, and everything spoke of gaiety and happiness.
"Come, arouse thyself, Ortrud. You have brought this upon us, now rouse thyself, since it is near day, and we must be gone out of the city."
"I cannot flee! Some strange thing holds me here. I shall avenge us, you may be sure before I have gone from this place." She rose from the steps upon which she had been reclining and went toward the palace, looking up at the windows where the women dwelt in the Kemenate.
"I don't know what spell binds me to a woman so wicked as thou art, Ortrud," Frederick exclaimed, watching her moodily. "I should leave thee, and cast thee off. To tell the truth I never believed the crimes with which I charged that maiden."
"Get thyself up," she cried to him, for he had thrown himself upon the ground. "Thou art but a chicken-hearted creature, not fit for an heroic woman like me."
"Thou art a black-hearted woman," he answered, and so they fell to quarrelling vigorously. But at last, each being quite lost to goodness, they felt their only help lay in each other.
"If thou wilt be a decently conducted husband toward me, I tell thee I will use my enchantments to undo that strange knight, and then all will be well with us." The lights in the palace began to go out, one by one. "Now is the hour when the stars reveal their secrets to me, Telramund," she said. "Sit here by me, and I will tell you who that swan was who drew the knight's boat upon the river. It was the brother of Elsa—enchanted,—whom we accused her of destroying. More than that, the knight is ruined if the secret of his home and his birth is discovered. If Elsa can be made to break her promise, and get him to reveal these things, he will be compelled to leave her and return whence he came. No one butshe hath the power to drag the secret from him; but should she do so, it is as I have said: all happiness is over for them."
"But she has promised—she will never ask that fatal question."
"Do thou go forth and say that sorcery hath triumphed over thee, and leave the rest to me. Rouse suspicion about this knight in every breast. He who will not tell of his birth nor land is soon suspected. Say that he won the fight by magic, and I will see that Elsa asks the fatal question."
"She will never do it——"
"Well, suppose she does not; the magic of my father is not forgotten by me. Let me tell you how we may force his ruin, even if we cannot make her break her word. If that knight should lose one drop of blood, he would be lost. All his power would then be gone."
"Oh, if I had but pricked his finger in the fight!"
"He would have been completely in thy power." As she said this, the door of the Kemenate slowly opened, and Elsa came out upon the balcony.
Elsa was clothed all in white, and she came out into the night to think alone of her knight, to thank Heaven for her deliverance, and to take new vows of faith and steadfastness to her promise. All the while she stood there, Frederick and Ortrud were watching her from below, where they sat upon the steps.
"Now away!" she whispered to Telramund. "It is for me to be left alone with this affair. I shall speak with her." Telramund, hoping that by fair or foul meanshis wife would win him back his forfeited knighthood, departed. After a little Ortrud called in a very sweet but sad voice:
"Elsa!" Elsa started and looked over the balcony.
"Ortrud! What art thou doing here? Wert thou not told to go far away from this place, where you tried so hard to wrong me?"
"Alas! Elsa, can you who are so happy, speak harshly to one so forlorn and deserted? Indeed it was not I who harmed thee. Telramund had some strange delusion, and it was he who cast a doubt upon thee. Now his eyes are opened and he is wandering sadly and alone; but I have done thee no harm. It was he who accused thee. I could not stay him. Yet I must suffer for it all, while thou art happy and serene. I am glad of thy happiness, but do not let it make thee unfeeling toward one who is so wretched."
That touched the soft heart of Elsa, and she listened kindly. After a little she spoke words of comfort to Ortrud:
"Hast thou no place to go this night?"
"Nay! We are quite abandoned; but I could rest well enough upon these steps if I did not remember that you had suffered through Telramund." That made Elsa's generous heart trouble her.
"Thou must come in, and stay this night with me," she said. "Wait here and I shall return." She went back into the Kemenate, and the moment she was left alone, Ortrud began rejoicing in the wickedest way, because she had been thus far successful in deceiving Elsa. Elsa returned with two of her maids bearing lights.
"Where art thou, Ortrud?" Elsa called before opening the door below the balcony; and the sorceress threw herself upon her knees and answered sweetly:
"Here, kneeling before thee, generous maiden."
"Thou art worn and unhappy, and to-morrow is my wedding day. I could not be gay and know that thou wert suffering, so come in with me, and sleep beside me, and to-morrow array thyself in fine clothing and be happy with the rest of us." Ortrud pretended great happiness and gratitude upon hearing this.
"Ah! Who would betray so gentle and trusting a maid?" Ortrud sighed. "I pray that the glamour which surrounds thy knight who was brought hither by magic may never depart and leave thee miserable." She sighed again, as if she had some secret fear.
"Oh, I could not doubt him," Elsa cried. But the same moment a little seed of distrust entered her heart. It was true she knew nothing of whence he had come; and moreover was forbidden to ask.
"Nay. Thou must never doubt him," Ortrud said plausibly, "since thy lips are forever sealed and ye can never ask one of those questions which other maidens and wives may ask their husbands and lovers. It would not do to doubt him. Thou must try to believe he is true and good, as he himself has said."
Elsa looked doubtfully at Ortrud, whose words had made a sad impression upon her, and yet she loved the knight so well she would not own it. But Ortrud guessed perfectly that already she had made Elsa suspicious and unhappy.
Trying to shake off the apprehension that was settling upon her because of the wicked woman's words, Elsa led the way into the palace, and the maids locked the door, and the day almost immediately began to break. Frederick came prowling back, like some bad animal, looking after the two women who had gone within.
"There went a woman of darkness!" he murmured, "but I can trust her magic and her godless spirit to win back my fortunes." While he was thinking upon these things the day dawned and two warders blew a blast from the turret where they walked, which announced the wedding morning of the knight and Elsa. A warder in another turret answered with his trumpet, and soon people began to assemble from all the country round. Frederick looked about for some place to conceal himself from the crowd. Seeing some projecting ornamentation upon the porch of the place where he and Ortrud had sat, he slipped behind and waited.
Trumpets began to sound back and forth, from all parts of the vast buildings of the palace. Soon the warders descended from their towers and unlocked the gates of the court. The servants of the castle entered, and went about their duties, some drawing water at the well, some passing on into the palace, where they were employed to wait upon knights and ladies. The four royal trumpeters went to the gates, and sounding their trumps to the four corners of the earth, notified the country round that it was time to assemble at the palace. Nobles and inhabitants of the great castle entered and peasants and knights living without the gates came from the road, till a magnificent host were gathered for the occasion of Elsa's wedding.
When all had assembled, a Herald mounted a high place before the palace.
"Now all listen," he cried. "By order of the King, Frederick of Telramund is laid under a ban, and whoevershall serve him or take pity upon him shall suffer his fate." The people cried curses upon the false knight. "Furthermore," the Herald cried, "I am to announce that the King has given to the brave knight who defended the honour of the Lady Elsa a sceptre and a crown. The knight does not consent to take the title of Duke, but he is willing to be known as the Guardian of Brabant, and as such he will defend his people." All hailed the knight joyously, and welcomed him as their guardian. "The knight bids me give a message. All of you are to come to the wedding, but as soon as it is over he bids ye take up arms, and to-morrow at dawn, he will go forth with ye to rout the invader who has so long troubled our King." Again all cried, "Hail!" They were delighted with the valour of their new defender.
"We shall follow where he leads!" all cried, and turned to speak enthusiastically with each other and to promise loyalty among themselves.
In the midst of this rejoicing and good will, four nobles of Frederick collected.
"Ye hear, do ye not, that we are banished?" one said; because they, as supporters of Frederick against the Lady Elsa, were under the ban. "What think ye? Are we too to leave home and country and fight a people who ne'er harmed us, because of this new comer?"
"I feel as bitter as ye," another said. "Yet who dares affront the King or resist his will?"
"I," said a cold and bitter voice, and as they turned, they saw Frederick himself, standing by their shoulders.
"Great heaven! If thou art seen, thy life will be in danger!" they cried.
"Do not fear. This very day I shall unmask this upstart knight!" He was about to say more, but somepages ran gaily down the palace steps and the Brabantian nobles pushed Frederick back into his hiding place, in haste. Every one crowded round the pages, who they knew came before Elsa and her ladies.
"Make way there!" the pages cried, forcing a way for the procession. When a wide passage was made, Elsa and all her retinue appeared at the door of the Kemenate.
A magnificent procession of great ladies and nobles, attended by train-bearers and pages, came from the palace and crossed the court to the Minster where Ortrud and Frederick had rested upon the steps the night before and the bridal procession marched to fine music:
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While this march was being played, and the procession passing, all the nobles bared their heads. As Elsa wasabout to pass into the church, everyone cried long life and happiness to her, and the air rang with shouts of rejoicing. But in the very midst of this fine scene, as Elsa stood with her foot upon the church steps, Ortrud rushed forward and confronted her. Her rage and jealousy had got the better of her cunning and judgment.
"Stand back!" she cried. "I will not follow thee like a slave, while thou art thus powerful and happy. I swear that thou shalt humbly bow thy head to me!" Every one stood in amazement and horror, because the sorceress looked very wicked and frightful, almost spitting her anger at the lovely maid.
"How is this, after thy gentleness of last night?" Elsa murmured. "Last night thou wert mild and repentant, why now so bitter?" She looked about her in bewilderment, while the nobles sprang forward and pushed back the raging woman.
All this passed as quick as lightning.
"Ye flout me! Ye who will have for a husband, one whom thou canst not name!" She laughed derisively. That hurt Elsa very much because it was true. Ortrud had remained with her through the night, and had continued to say so many things which had aroused her curiosity and fear, that she was thinking more and more of the fact that she knew nothing whatever of her knight.