[image]"The Swan drew the Boat to Shore"G. RochegrosseReproduction authorised by the publishers, A. Durand et Fils, ParisAs he drew near, they saw that the knight was clad in silver armour which shone dazzling white in the sun. Amid a general hush, the swan drew the boat to shore, and the knight stepped out. Before greeting the King or court, he dismissed the swan in a tender little song of farewell!"I give thee thanks, my faithful swan,Turn thee again and stem the tide;Go back to that blest land of dawnWhere thou and I did once abide;Full well thy loving task is done,Farewell, farewell, beloved swan!My faithful swan!"Then while the swan bent its head in sad obedience and sailed away on the current, the knight turned to the King."Hail, O King!" he said courteously. "I have come in answer to your summons to do battle in Elsa's cause.""You are right welcome, noble knight, from wheresoever you come," answered the King. Then turning to Elsa, he continued, "Do you accept this knight to be your champion?""'Tis the knight of my dream!" she murmured, sinking at his feet.The King struck his shield three times with his sword."Sound the call to combat!" he commanded.The call was given, and Frederick of Telramund took his place sullenly in the lists. He liked not the turn affairs were taking, but his word was given and could not be withdrawn.The stranger knight lifted Elsa gently to her feet, then prepared to face his enemy. Another stroke upon the King's shield, and the two antagonists had crossed blades with a sharp crash.But not long did they fight. Frederick was clearly outclassed from the first; and after a few wild, furious blows, which the other lightly parried, his sword was sent flying from his hand, and he was compelled to yield to the mercy of his conqueror.The Knight of the Swan refused to take his life; but according to the law the defeated man was accounted a perjurer and doomed to exile. With downcast head he slunk away, followed by the proud Ortrud, who glared about defiantly to the last.But the victorious knight now heeded them not. He had turned to where Elsa stood, and held out his hands in the old gesture which every maiden must one day understand. With a glad cry she ran and nestled in his arms."My hero!" she whispered.Then the knight turned proudly toward the King, and said in the hearing of all,"I would have the Lady Elsa as my wife.""You have my consent with hers," replied King Henry, heartily. "And with her hand goes the dukedom of Brabant."At this all the people shouted and threw their caps high in the air; for the new duke presented a handsome figure, while they had never liked the usurping Frederick."Only one promise must I exact from the fair Elsa," continued the champion. "If she cannot give it, I must release her from her silent pledge.""What is that?" asked the King."She must never ask me my name, or whence I come. That I am well born and worthy of her she can decide for herself. But no question must be asked as to my past life. Can you promise this, my Elsa?"He looked down anxiously at her, and she met his gaze frankly and trustingly."I promise—my husband!" she answered in low, sweet tones.The Knight of the Swan kissed her upon the brow, while the King himself came forward and took each by the hand."I shall take this maiden in my charge," said Henry the Fowler, "and remain in Antwerp long enough to bestow her in marriage upon this man. Come, let us to the palace and prepare for the ringing of the joy bells!"Then once again the people shouted with delight, and came crowding up to share in the scene. The King's shield was seized from the limb where it hung, and Elsa was placed upon it and borne forth in triumph, while the Swan Knight was likewise carried upon his own shield.To have heard the noise and rejoicing you would have thought that there was no one in all Brabant who did not share in the general happiness. But there were two who found it gall and wormwood, and these two were Frederick and Ortrud. Deprived of their wealth and power, and in danger of their lives, they suffered a just punishment for their wickedness. Frederick was for leaving Brabant at once, and seeking their fortunes in other countries. But Ortrud, whose spirit remained unbroken, would not hear of this. All along she had been his evil counsellor, and now she set going other schemes of mischief.The two stole forth at nightfall, clothed in beggar's tattered garments, and made their way to the palace steps, where they listened to the sounds of rejoicing within the palace."Ah! I should still be there, if I had not listened to you," groaned Frederick, who was a man of poor courage."Cease your complaining!" answered Ortrud. "We will win the victory yet, and you shall be in power again, if you listen to me now.""What can we do?""Have you not heard of the promise made by Elsa to this Swan Knight? He is a magician, I warrant you, and all we need do is to prove it. She has promised never to ask his name. Now if we can get her to break that promise, he will vanish—mark my words!"Frederick sat up and looked around eagerly."Ortrud, you are a genius!" he said. "But how can we do this? We are beggared and exiled.""Trust me—but hush! I hear someone on the balcony!"It was Elsa herself, who came out for a moment to look at the stars and commune with her own great happiness. At sight of the girl's face in the glow of the window, Ortrud crept softly round the balustrade and suddenly appeared before her startled gaze."Pardon—pardon!" cried the crafty woman in a low tone, and sinking on the step at Elsa's feet."Who are you?" demanded Elsa."I am an outcast. Out of your great happiness pity my deep misery!""It is Ortrud!" exclaimed the girl, her heart made tender by her own love. "Poor woman, I did not seek to harm you. Your husband brought it on himself.""I had naught to say," coaxed the kneeling woman. "And now you would not send me forth from your door, to wander into the wide world a beggar!""No!" exclaimed the generous Elsa, "I will shelter and protect you. Come with me!"She turned to order lights from two servants at the door; and Ortrud shot a quick glance of cunning triumph at her hidden husband, before entering the palace.All that night Frederick lurked amid the shadows of the neighbouring cathedral and waited. He knew that their wicked schemes were in safe hands, with Ortrud on the inside; and although only a few short hours remained he took heart of hope.The wedding had been set for early the next morning, so that Henry the Fowler could go to the wars.Hardly had the sun struck the lowest range of windows on the building, before an army of servants appeared, as if by magic, and began decorating walls, porticos, and pillars with streamers and flowers. When the sunlight had penetrated every corner of the court a herald came out and announced the approaching wedding. The King's business demanded haste and so there had been no delay. The herald further announced that the stranger knight would not accept the dukedom, but would be styled simply the Protector of Brabant; and that he was to go with the King's troops and lead the men into battle against the Hungarians.The herald had scarcely ceased ere four pages appeared on the palace steps crying, "Make way for the Lady Elsa!"Again the ladies-in-waiting came forth, clad in white, and behind them came Elsa looking very lovely in her bridal robes and attended by her friends and some of the noblest ladies of the state. Near her walked Ortrud whom Elsa wished to honour, and who was attired in rich and costly robes.Slowly the wedding party filed across the palace courtyard to the wide-open doors of the great cathedral. The maids arrayed themselves on either side to let their mistress pass; but just as Elsa reached the portal, Ortrud suddenly rushed in front of her exclaiming,"No! you shall not enter first! I am higher born than you, and must take the lead!""What do you mean?" asked Elsa starting back."I mean that your nameless knight won his victory yesterday by fraud, and that I am still the rightful duchess of Brabant."Elsa flushed red and answered her proudly, "A fitting return is this for my late kindness to you! And as to the victory it was won fairly in sight of all the people. Stand aside, rash woman, and let me pass!"Ortrud stood unmoved. "You would wed a pretty champion!" she sneered. "Why, you do not know his name! And as for knowing his origin or character—forsooth!" (Here she snapped her fingers.) "I tell you he is a magician, and won his fight with my husband by the powers of evil!""It is false!" cried Elsa wildly. "You are a slanderous——""The King! the King!" shouted the attendants at this moment. "Make way for the King!"The quarrel at the doorway ceased as the King approached followed by his knights. At his right hand came the Knight of the Swan, who seeing the commotion stepped quickly forward to Elsa's side."What is the trouble, beloved?" he asked quietly."This dreadful woman!" exclaimed the girl pointing to Ortrud. "She will not let me pass, and she has been saying wicked things about you."The knight gave Ortrud one stern look before which even her vengeful spirit quailed."Stand aside!" he commanded in a low voice."What is wrong?" demanded the voice of the King, who had come up with the group."Nothing now, your Majesty. We will go forward," answered the Swan Knight, taking his trembling bride upon his arm and mounting the cathedral steps.But at the threshold they met another interference. Frederick of Telramund, who had been lurking about watching all that happened, suddenly stepped from behind the door shouting,"Stay a moment, Elsa of Brabant. You are being deceived, foolish girl! You do not know whom you are marrying. He is a sorcerer, and overcame me by magic!"Elsa was like to swoon away at this unlooked-for happening. But the stranger knight whispered tenderly to her and reassured her.The King, on his part, was thoroughly aroused by this second interruption."Begone, sirrah!" he exclaimed. "The fight was fair and the champion sent of Heaven. Come not into our presence again on peril of your life!"Without farther hindrance the wedding party entered the church; and while the great organ pealed its strains of joyful music the knight and his lady were blessed and pronounced man and wife.All that day the festivities lasted. The King had commanded that a feast be spread for every man, woman and child in the city. The new Protector of Brabant was publicly acclaimed in the afternoon; while, that evening, a state banquet was held in the palace.Then following an old custom the maidens went ahead of the newly wedded couple to conduct them to the bridal-chamber. And as they entered its door they sang a beautiful refrain that has greeted the ears of countless brides from that day to this:"Fairest and bestWe lead thee on!"There the maidens left them and went away singing as they had come. When the last sweet note had died away, the knight took his wife's two hands tenderly within his own."Elsa," he murmured, "do you indeed love me; or have you wed me only from a sense of duty?""I have loved you ever since I beheld you in my dreams," she answered. "But how came you to seek me out?""I am indeed Heaven-sent, as I told you. But without your peril, I think that Love would have guided me to you. For I love you dearly, Elsa!""Ah, how sweet my name sounds upon your lips!" she cried softly. "If I could but utter your own, my happiness would be full."The knight gazed at her in silence a moment, then led her to an open casement.[image]Lohengrin and ElsaE. KlimschBy permission of F. Bruckmann, Munich"Breathe all the fragrance of eventide," he said. "Do you not distinguish many sweet odours beside the dew-laden roses near you? The breeze comes soft across the meadow and sea, bringing strange memories and hints of foreign shores. Is it not all the more delightful because we cannot penetrate all these mysteries? Love itself is the greatest mystery of all. Let us love then and be happy in each succeeding day; for when they are past we cannot recall them. We can only remember, but the mystery is gone!""Yes, let us love and be happy," she answered doubtfully. "But, O my husband, what shall I say when evil remarks are made, as like those by that wicked woman to-day?""Still thinking of her?" he replied with an attempt at lightness. "She will not annoy you again. For the rest, can you not trust me?""Can you not trustme?" she insisted. "Am I not your wife and worthy of some degree of confidence?""Elsa, once for all, this must not be! You have given your word to respect my secret. I assure you it is not a dark secret, and that I may look you frankly and joyfully in the face, as my wife. Isn't that enough?""But Frederick and Ortrud? What do they know about you? Why did they—oh, I cannot get their words out of my mind!"Elsa was in fact growing hysterical. She clung to him wildly as they stood in the window. Poor girl! her recent trials had left her an easy prey to the insidious attack of this day.The knight was very patient with her. He realised her unstrung condition, and tried to divert her mind by placing her gently in a chair where she could look out upon the river."See how white the waters gleam in the moonlight!" he said. "The river seems like a silver ribbon stretching away.""And look!" she cried pointing. "There comes the swan-boat to take you from me! Ah, do not go!""Calm yourself, dear one! There is no boat.""Oh, I cannot bear this mystery! I must question you!""Elsa!""I must, I must! What is your name?""Alas," he exclaimed. "Beware of what you say! Not another word I implore you!""Whence do you come?" she continued wildly.At this moment a slight noise was heard at the door, and Frederick of Telramund burst in. He had enlisted the services of four of his former party, resolved to make one last bold stroke and kill the Knight of the Swan. But again he was no match for the knight. Alarmed by the noise, the latter sprang quickly for his sword and met Frederick midway in the room. A few swift strokes and that evil man lay dead upon the floor. The four nobles were seized with fear and came and knelt before the knight craving pardon."Bear him to the King," he said quietly pointing to his fallen foe. "An audience will be held at early sunrise under the Oak of Justice."The men bowed humbly and went away with their burden.Elsa had well-nigh fainted from the excitement, and now laid her head sobbing upon the knight's shoulder."Forgive me!" she cried. "I recall my thoughtless words."For answer he kissed her lingeringly on the brow and then struck a gong which summoned her attendants."I leave the Lady Elsa in your hands," he said. "Array her as befits a bride, at the rising of the sun, and conduct her to the King. There I will answer all she asks."The wondering maids hastened to Elsa's side. She held out her hands to the knight beseechingly, but he passed from the room in silence and with bowed head.The next morning early the King held court again beneath the Oak of Justice. This was the day he was to start for the wars, and many knights and soldiers had assembled to march with their leader, the new Protector of Brabant. Henry had just come, and was answering the greetings of his captains, when the four nobles appeared bearing the body of Frederick of Telramund upon his shield, and followed by the weeping Ortrud.In answer to the King's question as to the meaning of this, they replied that the Knight of the Swan would soon appear and explain everything. They had hardly finished speaking when Elsa and her maids came in view. Elsa was attired, as yesterday, in her bridal dress, but her face was woebegone, her hair dishevelled and her eyes red with weeping. So pitiable was her appearance that the crowd near broke into exclamations of pity, while the King rising hastily came forward and led her to a seat."What is the meaning of all this?" he demanded. "By Heaven, I will know the truth!""Your Majesty, the Knight of the Swan will soon appear and answer all questions," said one of the maids.The King was about to make a quick remark, when the knight himself entered the throng. The men who expected to follow him into battle greeted him with cheers, but he made no response beyond a sad smile and shake of the head. He wore the same glittering armour of his first appearance, but his head was slightly bent as if in thought, and his steps were slow and reluctant.The hot-blooded King could no longer restrain himself."I would know the meaning of these things!" he said, scarcely responding to the Swan Knight's silent greeting. He pointed to the body of Frederick. "Who has done this deed?""I slew him in self-defence," answered the knight. Then he told of the attack within his room, and took the four nobles to witness that he told the truth. "With your Majesty's permission I will leave the verdict to all the people," he ended.Thus appealed to, the people cried loudly that he was innocent of wrong, and that Heaven had sent him to rid the land of a usurper and a coward."I also deem that you have done justly," said the King. "But what means the sorrow of this lady whom I took under my especial protection? Answer, and carefully!""I have promised the Lady Elsa to answer her questions, and I shall likewise answer yours," replied the knight, courteously. "The fighting men of Brabant—stout hearts and true—have gathered here to-day expecting that I shall lead them to the wars. This cannot be. I must tell my story and then bid farewell to all."A general murmur of dissent arose at this, but the knight stood unmoved waiting for silence. Presently as a hush fell, he began to speak again, slowly and earnestly."In a far-away land," he said, "there stands a sacred hill called Mount Salvat. Upon this hill rise the walls and towers of a mystic castle, called the Temple of the Grail, for within it is preserved the most precious relic in all the world—the Holy Grail. The knights who guard this shrine are a close brotherhood who have renounced the world and given their lives to self-sacrifice and good deeds. In reward for this, the sacred Cup gives them power beyond that of other men. They may journey into distant lands to help the weak and relieve distress, and always will they be victorious. But if they disclose the secret of their power, they must return to Mount Salvat."Thus was I sent to become the Lady Elsa's champion; and I had fondly hoped to dwell among you and be worthy of her love and trust. But now this cannot be. Enemies have persuaded her that my name and rank must be revealed; so it only is left for me to tell my lineage. I am not ashamed of this. I am the son of Parsifal, chief Guardian of the Grail. My name is Lohengrin."As he ceased speaking, amid the profound silence, voices were heard from the river's bank."The swan! the swan! See, he comes again!"Elsa threw herself upon the ground in an agony of grief."Ah, do not go away!" she moaned, clasping the knight's feet. "Do not go away and leave me! I shall die!"Lohengrin extended his finger sadly toward the bend in the stream, where the swan drew the boat majestically forward."It is the summons of Heaven," he said. "I have no other choice. Farewell, beloved, forever!"He raised her and she clung wildly to him as though she could not let him go. He gently resisted her."See!" he said. "Here is my sword and ring and bugle, which will bring victory in every battle-field. Keep them for your brother, of whom I give you good news. He is alive and may return in safety one day. I had hoped to bring him back to you within the year if I had been permitted to remain.""But you have failed, my fine hero!" cried a taunting voice which made them all turn quickly. It was Ortrud who had come forward for one last bitter triumph. "You have failed, so you and your pretty little bride may now hear the truth. It wasIwho caused her to ask those troublesome questions! And it wasIwho made away with her precious brother! I know one or two tricks of magic myself, and one of them turned the boy——into yonder swan! Ha, ha, ha!"She laughed harshly and pointed to the mystic bird now at the river brink, while King and courtiers looked on in amazed silence.Lohengrin alone remained calm at her outburst. He sank upon his knees and, lifting his noble face so that the sunlight seemed to irradiate it with a glory, he prayed to Heaven earnestly and silently for aid. Suddenly, down a beam of light, a white dove fluttered. It was the dove of the Grail. Accepting this as a sign that his prayer was answered, Lohengrin unfastened the swan from the boat, when the bird vanished beneath the surface of the water, and in its stead rose a fair young knight. Lohengrin took his hand and led him forward."This is Godfrey, the rightful Duke of Brabant!" he said. "Behold your chief, who will lead you to victory!"Godfrey knelt in homage to the King who raised him up and embraced him, while the people promised him their glad allegiance. Then Godfrey and Elsa rushed into each other's arms in the joy of reunion. Overcome with rage, Ortrud sank swooning across the steps of the throne. Meanwhile Lohengrin, seeing that Elsa was in the arms of her brother, entered the boat, whose chains were seized by the tiny dove. A flutter of its wings, and lo! the boat moved easily out on the stream and went swiftly forward against the current.When Elsa raised her eyes from her dear brother's face, she beheld the boat already far out upon the sunlit water. The knight stood leaning upon his shield, his whole figure shining, it seemed, with unearthly radiance, and alas! fading away like some splendid dream.With a last despairing cry of "My husband! my husband!" Elsa sank prostrate upon the shore. Her dream it had been, and it was ended.Tannhäuser the Knight of Song(Tannhauser)After the coming of Christianity into the world, people no longer believed in the old gods and goddesses. They were called evil spirits, or else people said that they had never really existed at all. But there was one goddess who was still believed in, although she was feared and even hated. She was Venus, goddess of Love, and in the heyday of her power she was worshipped in many lands. For did not Love stir the hearts of all men, and would it not rule all the world at the last? And so Venus had been given all honour and affection; and in return she had been the kindest of all the deities and had tried to make her subjects happier and more considerate one with another.But now, as I say, all this was changed. People had ceased to worship Venus, and in revenge she began to do everything she could to injure them. Instead of pure affection which makes the heart glad, she sent a baser love which is only selfish and which brings jealousy and quarrels and heart-aches in its train. And Venus herself, from being a goddess, became a witch. She went to dwell in a deep cavern within a mountain in Germany which came to be called the Venusberg. Here she would lie in wait for men whom she would enchant and keep imprisoned within the mountain forever. They would forget their homes and loved ones—everything—while they served her and were subject to her wiles. They no longer saw the sun or moon or stars or the fresh green of the springing grass. Instead, they lived in a rose-coloured twilight filled with beautiful clouds, the heavy perfume of flowers, and the dancing, laughing figures of youths and maidens—spirits of this mysterious underworld ruled by the witch Venus.One day while this enchantress was watching and waiting near the entrance to her grotto she saw a knight coming slowly over the mountains. He was young and handsome, with the first fine strength of early manhood, but just now he seemed moody and dispirited. Venus who could read the hearts of men knew who he was and whence he came, but as you have not yet heard, I will pause to tell you.The young knight's name was Tannhäuser and he lived in the country of Thuringia. At this time there were many minstrels, or strolling singers, in the land, and so popular were they at all the courts that even the knights laid aside their swords and spears and forgot their joustings for the harp and its music and the contests of song. The King of this country, in his castle at Wartburg, had held many song contests or tournaments, and great was the honour to any knight or minstrel who won his prizes.One of the best harpers and sweetest singers of them all was Tannhäuser. He had early shown a fine ear for music, and when the time came for him to enter the contests, he won many prizes and bade fair to outdistance all the others. Indeed, it was whispered that so appealing were his harp chords and so wonderful was his voice, that he had quite won the heart of the King's niece, the Princess Elizabeth.Yet Tannhäuser was not entirely happy. He loved the Princess and he loved his music, but although both smiled upon him he felt vaguely dissatisfied. It seemed to him as though the honours and pleasures of the world had come with too little effort. He wanted to reach out beyond for other things still unattainable—he knew not what.Finally he bade farewell to the Princess, and to his friends at the castle, saying that he was going to travel in distant lands. The parting was sorrowful, although he had fully resolved upon it; and now as he set forth across the mountains carrying only his harp he was doubly sad and cast down.Suddenly the rock door of a cavern swung aside before his gaze as if by magic. In the dimly lighted entrance he saw a beautiful woman standing and stretching out her arms to him. Her figure was outlined by a halo, as it were, caused by the rosy glow which came from within the cave. It was Venus who sought to lure him. Her terrible witches' eyes were hid behind a smiling face, and she was once again the fairest woman in all the world. Now she wove a spell while she beckoned to him."Come," she said softly. "I have seen your unrest and alone can bring you happiness. In my blest land you will find all the music and beauty for which you seek. Come!"Scarcely knowing what he did, the knight obeyed the enchantress and entered the portal. As he did so the heavy stone closed behind him and at the same moment the memory of his earth-life vanished like a dream. He had become in a moment a subject of Venus. Taking him by the hand she led him far into the depths of her mysterious realm, and at every step his wonder and delight increased. Here the very trees seemed attuned to harmony. There the waves of a deep blue lake sang of love as they beat upon the shore. Out on the water swam bewitching mermaids; while on the strand the light graceful figures of elves and sirens engaged in mimic warfare.Here at last Tannhäuser thought he had found true beauty and happiness. And so he gladly served his queen for a whole year, thinking of it only as a single day. He had, in fact, completely forgotten his old life, and lived wholly in the present, content with the joys of the moment.But at last a change came over him. Something, he knew not what, stirred within him and told him that he was a slave. He began to realise that he was under the power of a spell and that he had given up many things for which he now dimly longed. He began to grow restless and silent.The watchful Venus saw this new mood almost before he was aware of it. Anxious to overcome it, she prepared new and wilder pleasures day by day. Dances, pageants, masquerades, tableaux, banquets and tournaments followed each in bewildering succession. Concerts were given which far excelled the music of earth. Her wiles seemed successful. For the time, Tannhäuser forgot his moodiness; and when Venus asked him to compose a song in her honour, he responded with one full of praise of her beauty and charm. Then he sang of the life at Venusberg and its attractiveness. But even as he sang his new found longing gained hold of him and he ended with an outburst which surprised even him:"'Tis freedom I must win or die.For freedom I can all defy:In rose-hued grottos I am longingFor all the soft wood zephyrs thronging,For vision of fair heaven's blue,The songs of birds, the old earth's view!Come life, come death, forth would I goTo taste of human joy or woe;No more in slavery would I lie,—O queen, O goddess, let me fly!"Venus was full of anger at this direct appeal for freedom, in spite of all her arts; but she hid her feelings behind a smile and said in soft tones,"Whither would you fly? Are not all things here in perfection? What more would you desire? Ask, and you shall be obeyed!""I want only freedom," said the knight mournfully."What is freedom? Where could you go? The earth you speak of has forgotten you. Here you are immortal and all things are yours.""Still I would away," persisted Tannhäuser. "I know not where. O queen, give me leave to try another life for myself—something that will meet this new found longing within my breast! I will not be disloyal to your memory. Indeed, I will sing your praise, and yours alone. But give me leave to go!""Then depart!" said Venus, her voice growing cold with anger. "Out of my sight, ungrateful mortal! But heed well my warning. You have lost your hold upon the other world by lingering here, and men will shun you when they find whence you come. Some day you will return to me, and willingly. Till then, away!"[image]"O Queen, O Goddess, let me fly!"J. WagrezPhoto, Braun, Clément & Co.She stamped her foot, and in a moment the scene changed like the dissolving picture upon a stage. Instead of the grotto with its perfume and dim lights and dancing figures, Tannhäuser found himself lying upon a grassy knoll under the wide blue sky of heaven and with the bright sunlight streaming full upon him. He rose as if waking from a deep sleep, stretched his limbs and took a long breath of the sweet pure air. As he did so he cast his eyes across the valley and instantly his past life came back to him fresh and distinct as if but yesterday.There stood the noble castle of Wartburg where he had taken part in the contests of song; where the King had been gracious to him; and where the beautiful Elizabeth had smiled at his coming. A pang smote his heart when he remembered her sweet graciousness. Where was she now; and how long had it been since he proved so unworthy of her?Near by, a shepherd played upon his pipe while his flock grazed contentedly near him. Presently the piper called the sheep and they followed him down the valley to fresh pastures.Then the sound of men's voices singing came to the knight's ears from a distant mountain path. Slowly it drew near and grew more distinct—a mournful yet beautiful melody chanted by a group of pilgrims on their way to Rome. As the words of the penitential song reached him, the knight felt for the first time the weight of his sin in turning aside from the path of duty. Overcome with remorse he fell upon his knees before a wayside cross and prayed fervently for forgiveness.While he knelt a new sound smote the air. It was the blast of hunting horns mingled with the joyous baying of hounds. Presently the King himself entered with a troop of huntsmen starting out upon the chase. As they passed near the kneeling knight the King recognised him, and reining his horse he asked kindly where Tannhäuser had been."I have been in strange lands, your Majesty," answered the minstrel knight sadly. "I went in search of many things, but I found them not. I pray you let me fare on my way.""Not so," answered the King. "We have missed you greatly in the lists of song, and upon the chase. Stay with us at least for a time."The other knights joined the entreaties of the King. To tell the truth, some were not over anxious for his return, as they remembered only too well how he had vanquished them in singing. But there was one of their number who had been Tannhäuser's steadfast friend—Wolfram von Eschenbach by name—who hastened to greet him and urge him to remain with them. Wolfram had been a rival of Tannhäuser, not only in song but also for the favour of the Princess. Yet this did not detract from his generous welcome.But still the wandering minstrel hesitated to return; and it is probable that he would have gone on his way had not Wolfram said in a low voice,"Let the welcome of still another win you back to us. There is one yonder in the castle to whom the sight of your face will bring back the light in her eyes and the smile on her lips. In sooth she has drooped sadly since you went away. And the contests of song which she was wont to grace with her presence are now forsaken by her. Need I tell her name to you? Have you indeed forgotten the fairest among maidens, the Princess Elizabeth?"Tannhäuser trembled violently at the mention of her name. A deep longing came over him to behold her face once more and hear the sound of her voice, although he felt with tenfold anguish the sense of his own unworthiness. His eyes were full of tears as he turned and looked toward the castle shining in the sunlight upon the farther hill."I pray you lead me to her presence," he said simply."Come!" commanded the King, seeing Wolfram take Tannhäuser by the hand. And turning with all his cavalcade he escorted the wanderer back to the castle with all the pomp of a conqueror.That very night had been set apart for one of the yearly contests of song; and though the lists had long been closed, the King gave command that Tannhäuser's name should be added. The Princess Elizabeth had not been visible when the company first returned to the castle. But she had heard of her knight's return, and had joyfully promised to attend the contest; so the occasion bade fair to be of more than usual splendour.In the evening, before the expected guests were assembled, the Princess went to the Minstrels' Hall—a large circular chamber with high columns and arched roof—to attend personally to setting it in order, and also perchance, as her heart confessed, to catch an early glimpse of her beloved knight.Fair was the Princess as a May morning, with deep blue eyes that had caught some of the far-off sky in them. Her hair was soft and golden and curly as that of a little child. Slight of frame was she, but with a gracefulness and height that gave her a queenly dignity. Her cheeks, too often pale of late, were to-day flushed with animation. She had indeed missed her minstrel sadly, and now her heart bounded at the news of his return.Presently she heard a familiar footfall in the room, and knew without looking up that it was he."O Princess, forgive!" said a voice. Tannhäuser was kneeling at her feet, his hands stretched out imploringly."You must not kneel to me," she answered, gently endeavouring to raise him. "It is not for me to forgive. Only tell me where you have been so long.""I cannot tell you that," he replied brokenly. "I have wandered far away from your dear presence; and between yesterday and to-day the veil of oblivion is dropped. Every remembrance has forever vanished save one thing only rising from the darkness,—the thought that some day I might behold your face again and hear you say, 'I forgive.'"Elizabeth covered her face with her hands, but the glad tears trickled between her fingers; and Tannhäuser, beholding her emotion, realised how deeply he had been loved and what a pearl he had cast away.[image]Tannhäuser and ElizabethE. KlimschBy permission of F. Bruckmann, MunichBut the Princess like all loving women was forgiving. She asked no more questions of the minstrel, but when he took one of her hands and then the other, as all lovers will, she let them linger in his own in perfect content.The entrance of the King broke upon their little scene of reconciliation. He saw it all at a glance and came forward with a frank smile."Ah, it is as I had hoped!" he said, as he took a hand of each and held it for a moment. "Now let us have no more quarrels, but live together as harmoniously as one of our minstrel's songs."Thus it was that Tannhäuser realised, in a great wave of thankfulness, that his old life was still open to him, and not closed as Venus had said. He resolved to be worthy henceforth of his position and honours. Above all would he cherish this sweet Princess who loved him so unselfishly.Not long after this, the sound of trumpets proclaimed that the contest was about to begin. The King and the Princess took their places upon a dais at one side of the hall, while Tannhäuser retired to make his proper entry with the other minstrel knights.Soon the people began to throng the hall. Nobles and ladies came first and passed before the throne and bowed before taking their seats. Then came warriors and chosen guests. And finally with another flourish of the trumpets entered the singers of the evening. Each was a famous knight who like Tannhäuser had laid aside the sword in favour of the gentler harp. The fame of some of these knights, like Wolfram von Eschenbach and Walter von der Vogelweide, is known to this day. But among them all none was more handsome or of better renown than Tannhäuser.As these knights did obeisance and took the places assigned to them, the King rose and thanked them all for their attendance. The subject of the songs, he said, was to be "Love"; and whoso should sing best on this lofty theme should receive the prize from the hand of the Princess Elizabeth. Let him ask what he would added the generous King, and it should be granted.More than one of the knights had been a suitor for the Princess's hand, and they saw in this promise a reward for their dearest hopes. So you may imagine what a wave of suppressed excitement went around all the crowded hall at this announcement. The hands of the minstrels trembled as they drew lots for the order of their songs.The lot of Wolfram came first, and amid a profound hush he rose to begin.Thrumming the harp strings with a practised hand he began in a low clear voice to sing of unselfish devotion and chivalry. Wolfram had long loved the Princess, but had generously yielded place in favour of his friend Tannhäuser. Now his song showed the nobility of the man. He paid tribute to the ladies of the court among whom the Princess shone as some rare gem. Then, his voice rising steadily higher till it thrilled his hearers, he sang of the one true love that counted its highest joy the sacrifice of even life itself for the loved one.When Wolfram had finished, the hall resounded with cries of acclamation; for indeed his song had been beautiful, and no less true. Tannhäuser alone did not join in the applause. While the song was being sung he had sat silent as one in a dream. Again before his eyes came the vision of the fairy grotto with its gorgeous pictures and entrancing music. He, seemed to see the bewitching figure of Venus and to hear his own voice as he promised her, "I will sing your praise and yours alone."Scarcely knowing what he did, Tannhäuser sprang to his feet, before the applause for his rival had subsided, and began to sing an answer to Wolfram's strain. But how different was his theme! Instead of the pure exalted love which gloried in self-sacrifice, he sang of selfish desire which sought only for personal gratification. Truly the enchantment was still upon him, for he could think only of the life of the grotto and the round of pleasures which had been planned for him, rather than of any devotion upon his own part. But that was the way in which Venus, once the goddess of true love, now weakened men's minds.When Tannhäuser began to sing, the audience gave him close heed. He had not proceeded far, however, with his strange theme, when murmurs of anger and dissent began to be heard, which increased until one of the minstrels at length sprang to his feet."The love you sing is false!" he cried; "false as your own heart! We will not hear it in silence, nor suffer you thus to cast a slur upon all true knights. I challenge you to mortal combat!"These words were loudly cheered by other minstrels. The entire hall was in an uproar until the King arose and commanded silence. Then Wolfram was seen standing once more with harp in hand, beckoning to be heard.In words of kindly reproach he rebuked Tannhäuser for his selfish and unworthy song. He could not know what real devotion was, Wolfram said, if he placed it upon so low a plane. Then Wolfram again touched his harp strings and sang a pleasing tender refrain in praise of the love to which they all aspired.But Tannhäuser rudely interrupted him, and heeding not the clamour which broke forth again, he sang in wild reckless fashion of the life he had led during the past year. He told of the grotto, its music, its perfumes, its exquisite scenes and round of delights presided over by Venus herself."Your heroic self-sacrifice," he ended sneeringly, "is cold and tame in comparison with this! And the fairest women of earth pale into insignificance beside this wonderful goddess. Ah, Venus! I have kept my promise!Thinebe the praise!"He ended as one in a trance—as in truth the poor knight must have been. He stood motionless with gaze fixed as it were upon some hidden scene, while his harp fell clattering from his hand to the ground.Then the outcry burst forth with redoubled fury. The minstrels surged forward tumultuously crying,"He has been to the Venusberg! He has fallen under the power of the evil one! Away with him! Kill him!"In their anger and horror of him they must have slain him, had not someone interposed. But quick as thought a slender, white-robed figure stood between them and the misguided knight, and held out her hands entreatingly. It was Elizabeth. She had sat there sick at heart listening to her chosen minstrel's song. All too well she saw how unworthy was the one to whom she had given her heart; but, once given, she could not recall it in a moment. She would pray for him, and live in the hope that he might yet prove worthy."Stop!" she cried to the nobles who circled about Tannhäuser, with swords drawn, "Stop, I command you! Would you slay him with all his sins ripe upon his head?""He has dishonoured knighthood!" muttered the minstrel who had previously challenged him. "He deserves no mercy.""Then that is all the more reason why you should grant mercy," she answered.By this time the King had asserted his authority, and soon the semblance of peace was restored. Then Elizabeth in all her sweet dignity pleaded the cause of Tannhäuser. Addressing now the King, now the nobles, and now the knight himself, she pointed out that Tannhäuser was still under the spell of evil into which he had fallen, and was not accountable for his deeds."Give him another opportunity, O my King!" she concluded. "Perchance in the doing of some penance or some gracious act, his better heart will assert itself, and he will then see how he has wounded all our hearts this day."As she finished speaking she turned, to find at her feet the penitent knight. The vision had passed leaving him bowed down under the burden of his sin and unworthiness. He kissed the hem of her garment while tears flowed fast and unchecked from his eyes. For his life he cared not a straw. But that he should have sunk so low in the eyes of this noble woman—the thought smote his heart with keenest anguish!Then the voice of the King came to him, as it were an echo,—"One path alone can save you from perdition and everlasting woe, abandoned man! That path is now open to your steps. To-day a band of pilgrims are setting forth on their toilsome way to Rome. Depart with them and seek pardon for your sins."Even as the King spoke, a chant was heard through the open portal. Tannhäuser recognised it as the same sweet strain he had heard that morning by the wayside cross. He kissed the hem of Elizabeth's robe once again and dared to look with mute entreaty into her eyes. Then he sprang quickly to his feet and addressed the King in two wild, hopeful words."To Rome!" he cried, and hurried from the hall to join the pilgrim band.
[image]"The Swan drew the Boat to Shore"G. RochegrosseReproduction authorised by the publishers, A. Durand et Fils, Paris
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"The Swan drew the Boat to Shore"G. RochegrosseReproduction authorised by the publishers, A. Durand et Fils, Paris
As he drew near, they saw that the knight was clad in silver armour which shone dazzling white in the sun. Amid a general hush, the swan drew the boat to shore, and the knight stepped out. Before greeting the King or court, he dismissed the swan in a tender little song of farewell!
"I give thee thanks, my faithful swan,Turn thee again and stem the tide;Go back to that blest land of dawnWhere thou and I did once abide;Full well thy loving task is done,Farewell, farewell, beloved swan!My faithful swan!"
"I give thee thanks, my faithful swan,Turn thee again and stem the tide;Go back to that blest land of dawnWhere thou and I did once abide;Full well thy loving task is done,Farewell, farewell, beloved swan!My faithful swan!"
"I give thee thanks, my faithful swan,
Turn thee again and stem the tide;
Go back to that blest land of dawn
Where thou and I did once abide;
Full well thy loving task is done,
Farewell, farewell, beloved swan!
My faithful swan!"
Then while the swan bent its head in sad obedience and sailed away on the current, the knight turned to the King.
"Hail, O King!" he said courteously. "I have come in answer to your summons to do battle in Elsa's cause."
"You are right welcome, noble knight, from wheresoever you come," answered the King. Then turning to Elsa, he continued, "Do you accept this knight to be your champion?"
"'Tis the knight of my dream!" she murmured, sinking at his feet.
The King struck his shield three times with his sword.
"Sound the call to combat!" he commanded.
The call was given, and Frederick of Telramund took his place sullenly in the lists. He liked not the turn affairs were taking, but his word was given and could not be withdrawn.
The stranger knight lifted Elsa gently to her feet, then prepared to face his enemy. Another stroke upon the King's shield, and the two antagonists had crossed blades with a sharp crash.
But not long did they fight. Frederick was clearly outclassed from the first; and after a few wild, furious blows, which the other lightly parried, his sword was sent flying from his hand, and he was compelled to yield to the mercy of his conqueror.
The Knight of the Swan refused to take his life; but according to the law the defeated man was accounted a perjurer and doomed to exile. With downcast head he slunk away, followed by the proud Ortrud, who glared about defiantly to the last.
But the victorious knight now heeded them not. He had turned to where Elsa stood, and held out his hands in the old gesture which every maiden must one day understand. With a glad cry she ran and nestled in his arms.
"My hero!" she whispered.
Then the knight turned proudly toward the King, and said in the hearing of all,
"I would have the Lady Elsa as my wife."
"You have my consent with hers," replied King Henry, heartily. "And with her hand goes the dukedom of Brabant."
At this all the people shouted and threw their caps high in the air; for the new duke presented a handsome figure, while they had never liked the usurping Frederick.
"Only one promise must I exact from the fair Elsa," continued the champion. "If she cannot give it, I must release her from her silent pledge."
"What is that?" asked the King.
"She must never ask me my name, or whence I come. That I am well born and worthy of her she can decide for herself. But no question must be asked as to my past life. Can you promise this, my Elsa?"
He looked down anxiously at her, and she met his gaze frankly and trustingly.
"I promise—my husband!" she answered in low, sweet tones.
The Knight of the Swan kissed her upon the brow, while the King himself came forward and took each by the hand.
"I shall take this maiden in my charge," said Henry the Fowler, "and remain in Antwerp long enough to bestow her in marriage upon this man. Come, let us to the palace and prepare for the ringing of the joy bells!"
Then once again the people shouted with delight, and came crowding up to share in the scene. The King's shield was seized from the limb where it hung, and Elsa was placed upon it and borne forth in triumph, while the Swan Knight was likewise carried upon his own shield.
To have heard the noise and rejoicing you would have thought that there was no one in all Brabant who did not share in the general happiness. But there were two who found it gall and wormwood, and these two were Frederick and Ortrud. Deprived of their wealth and power, and in danger of their lives, they suffered a just punishment for their wickedness. Frederick was for leaving Brabant at once, and seeking their fortunes in other countries. But Ortrud, whose spirit remained unbroken, would not hear of this. All along she had been his evil counsellor, and now she set going other schemes of mischief.
The two stole forth at nightfall, clothed in beggar's tattered garments, and made their way to the palace steps, where they listened to the sounds of rejoicing within the palace.
"Ah! I should still be there, if I had not listened to you," groaned Frederick, who was a man of poor courage.
"Cease your complaining!" answered Ortrud. "We will win the victory yet, and you shall be in power again, if you listen to me now."
"What can we do?"
"Have you not heard of the promise made by Elsa to this Swan Knight? He is a magician, I warrant you, and all we need do is to prove it. She has promised never to ask his name. Now if we can get her to break that promise, he will vanish—mark my words!"
Frederick sat up and looked around eagerly.
"Ortrud, you are a genius!" he said. "But how can we do this? We are beggared and exiled."
"Trust me—but hush! I hear someone on the balcony!"
It was Elsa herself, who came out for a moment to look at the stars and commune with her own great happiness. At sight of the girl's face in the glow of the window, Ortrud crept softly round the balustrade and suddenly appeared before her startled gaze.
"Pardon—pardon!" cried the crafty woman in a low tone, and sinking on the step at Elsa's feet.
"Who are you?" demanded Elsa.
"I am an outcast. Out of your great happiness pity my deep misery!"
"It is Ortrud!" exclaimed the girl, her heart made tender by her own love. "Poor woman, I did not seek to harm you. Your husband brought it on himself."
"I had naught to say," coaxed the kneeling woman. "And now you would not send me forth from your door, to wander into the wide world a beggar!"
"No!" exclaimed the generous Elsa, "I will shelter and protect you. Come with me!"
She turned to order lights from two servants at the door; and Ortrud shot a quick glance of cunning triumph at her hidden husband, before entering the palace.
All that night Frederick lurked amid the shadows of the neighbouring cathedral and waited. He knew that their wicked schemes were in safe hands, with Ortrud on the inside; and although only a few short hours remained he took heart of hope.
The wedding had been set for early the next morning, so that Henry the Fowler could go to the wars.
Hardly had the sun struck the lowest range of windows on the building, before an army of servants appeared, as if by magic, and began decorating walls, porticos, and pillars with streamers and flowers. When the sunlight had penetrated every corner of the court a herald came out and announced the approaching wedding. The King's business demanded haste and so there had been no delay. The herald further announced that the stranger knight would not accept the dukedom, but would be styled simply the Protector of Brabant; and that he was to go with the King's troops and lead the men into battle against the Hungarians.
The herald had scarcely ceased ere four pages appeared on the palace steps crying, "Make way for the Lady Elsa!"
Again the ladies-in-waiting came forth, clad in white, and behind them came Elsa looking very lovely in her bridal robes and attended by her friends and some of the noblest ladies of the state. Near her walked Ortrud whom Elsa wished to honour, and who was attired in rich and costly robes.
Slowly the wedding party filed across the palace courtyard to the wide-open doors of the great cathedral. The maids arrayed themselves on either side to let their mistress pass; but just as Elsa reached the portal, Ortrud suddenly rushed in front of her exclaiming,
"No! you shall not enter first! I am higher born than you, and must take the lead!"
"What do you mean?" asked Elsa starting back.
"I mean that your nameless knight won his victory yesterday by fraud, and that I am still the rightful duchess of Brabant."
Elsa flushed red and answered her proudly, "A fitting return is this for my late kindness to you! And as to the victory it was won fairly in sight of all the people. Stand aside, rash woman, and let me pass!"
Ortrud stood unmoved. "You would wed a pretty champion!" she sneered. "Why, you do not know his name! And as for knowing his origin or character—forsooth!" (Here she snapped her fingers.) "I tell you he is a magician, and won his fight with my husband by the powers of evil!"
"It is false!" cried Elsa wildly. "You are a slanderous——"
"The King! the King!" shouted the attendants at this moment. "Make way for the King!"
The quarrel at the doorway ceased as the King approached followed by his knights. At his right hand came the Knight of the Swan, who seeing the commotion stepped quickly forward to Elsa's side.
"What is the trouble, beloved?" he asked quietly.
"This dreadful woman!" exclaimed the girl pointing to Ortrud. "She will not let me pass, and she has been saying wicked things about you."
The knight gave Ortrud one stern look before which even her vengeful spirit quailed.
"Stand aside!" he commanded in a low voice.
"What is wrong?" demanded the voice of the King, who had come up with the group.
"Nothing now, your Majesty. We will go forward," answered the Swan Knight, taking his trembling bride upon his arm and mounting the cathedral steps.
But at the threshold they met another interference. Frederick of Telramund, who had been lurking about watching all that happened, suddenly stepped from behind the door shouting,
"Stay a moment, Elsa of Brabant. You are being deceived, foolish girl! You do not know whom you are marrying. He is a sorcerer, and overcame me by magic!"
Elsa was like to swoon away at this unlooked-for happening. But the stranger knight whispered tenderly to her and reassured her.
The King, on his part, was thoroughly aroused by this second interruption.
"Begone, sirrah!" he exclaimed. "The fight was fair and the champion sent of Heaven. Come not into our presence again on peril of your life!"
Without farther hindrance the wedding party entered the church; and while the great organ pealed its strains of joyful music the knight and his lady were blessed and pronounced man and wife.
All that day the festivities lasted. The King had commanded that a feast be spread for every man, woman and child in the city. The new Protector of Brabant was publicly acclaimed in the afternoon; while, that evening, a state banquet was held in the palace.
Then following an old custom the maidens went ahead of the newly wedded couple to conduct them to the bridal-chamber. And as they entered its door they sang a beautiful refrain that has greeted the ears of countless brides from that day to this:
"Fairest and bestWe lead thee on!"
"Fairest and bestWe lead thee on!"
"Fairest and best
We lead thee on!"
There the maidens left them and went away singing as they had come. When the last sweet note had died away, the knight took his wife's two hands tenderly within his own.
"Elsa," he murmured, "do you indeed love me; or have you wed me only from a sense of duty?"
"I have loved you ever since I beheld you in my dreams," she answered. "But how came you to seek me out?"
"I am indeed Heaven-sent, as I told you. But without your peril, I think that Love would have guided me to you. For I love you dearly, Elsa!"
"Ah, how sweet my name sounds upon your lips!" she cried softly. "If I could but utter your own, my happiness would be full."
The knight gazed at her in silence a moment, then led her to an open casement.
[image]Lohengrin and ElsaE. KlimschBy permission of F. Bruckmann, Munich
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Lohengrin and ElsaE. KlimschBy permission of F. Bruckmann, Munich
"Breathe all the fragrance of eventide," he said. "Do you not distinguish many sweet odours beside the dew-laden roses near you? The breeze comes soft across the meadow and sea, bringing strange memories and hints of foreign shores. Is it not all the more delightful because we cannot penetrate all these mysteries? Love itself is the greatest mystery of all. Let us love then and be happy in each succeeding day; for when they are past we cannot recall them. We can only remember, but the mystery is gone!"
"Yes, let us love and be happy," she answered doubtfully. "But, O my husband, what shall I say when evil remarks are made, as like those by that wicked woman to-day?"
"Still thinking of her?" he replied with an attempt at lightness. "She will not annoy you again. For the rest, can you not trust me?"
"Can you not trustme?" she insisted. "Am I not your wife and worthy of some degree of confidence?"
"Elsa, once for all, this must not be! You have given your word to respect my secret. I assure you it is not a dark secret, and that I may look you frankly and joyfully in the face, as my wife. Isn't that enough?"
"But Frederick and Ortrud? What do they know about you? Why did they—oh, I cannot get their words out of my mind!"
Elsa was in fact growing hysterical. She clung to him wildly as they stood in the window. Poor girl! her recent trials had left her an easy prey to the insidious attack of this day.
The knight was very patient with her. He realised her unstrung condition, and tried to divert her mind by placing her gently in a chair where she could look out upon the river.
"See how white the waters gleam in the moonlight!" he said. "The river seems like a silver ribbon stretching away."
"And look!" she cried pointing. "There comes the swan-boat to take you from me! Ah, do not go!"
"Calm yourself, dear one! There is no boat."
"Oh, I cannot bear this mystery! I must question you!"
"Elsa!"
"I must, I must! What is your name?"
"Alas," he exclaimed. "Beware of what you say! Not another word I implore you!"
"Whence do you come?" she continued wildly.
At this moment a slight noise was heard at the door, and Frederick of Telramund burst in. He had enlisted the services of four of his former party, resolved to make one last bold stroke and kill the Knight of the Swan. But again he was no match for the knight. Alarmed by the noise, the latter sprang quickly for his sword and met Frederick midway in the room. A few swift strokes and that evil man lay dead upon the floor. The four nobles were seized with fear and came and knelt before the knight craving pardon.
"Bear him to the King," he said quietly pointing to his fallen foe. "An audience will be held at early sunrise under the Oak of Justice."
The men bowed humbly and went away with their burden.
Elsa had well-nigh fainted from the excitement, and now laid her head sobbing upon the knight's shoulder.
"Forgive me!" she cried. "I recall my thoughtless words."
For answer he kissed her lingeringly on the brow and then struck a gong which summoned her attendants.
"I leave the Lady Elsa in your hands," he said. "Array her as befits a bride, at the rising of the sun, and conduct her to the King. There I will answer all she asks."
The wondering maids hastened to Elsa's side. She held out her hands to the knight beseechingly, but he passed from the room in silence and with bowed head.
The next morning early the King held court again beneath the Oak of Justice. This was the day he was to start for the wars, and many knights and soldiers had assembled to march with their leader, the new Protector of Brabant. Henry had just come, and was answering the greetings of his captains, when the four nobles appeared bearing the body of Frederick of Telramund upon his shield, and followed by the weeping Ortrud.
In answer to the King's question as to the meaning of this, they replied that the Knight of the Swan would soon appear and explain everything. They had hardly finished speaking when Elsa and her maids came in view. Elsa was attired, as yesterday, in her bridal dress, but her face was woebegone, her hair dishevelled and her eyes red with weeping. So pitiable was her appearance that the crowd near broke into exclamations of pity, while the King rising hastily came forward and led her to a seat.
"What is the meaning of all this?" he demanded. "By Heaven, I will know the truth!"
"Your Majesty, the Knight of the Swan will soon appear and answer all questions," said one of the maids.
The King was about to make a quick remark, when the knight himself entered the throng. The men who expected to follow him into battle greeted him with cheers, but he made no response beyond a sad smile and shake of the head. He wore the same glittering armour of his first appearance, but his head was slightly bent as if in thought, and his steps were slow and reluctant.
The hot-blooded King could no longer restrain himself.
"I would know the meaning of these things!" he said, scarcely responding to the Swan Knight's silent greeting. He pointed to the body of Frederick. "Who has done this deed?"
"I slew him in self-defence," answered the knight. Then he told of the attack within his room, and took the four nobles to witness that he told the truth. "With your Majesty's permission I will leave the verdict to all the people," he ended.
Thus appealed to, the people cried loudly that he was innocent of wrong, and that Heaven had sent him to rid the land of a usurper and a coward.
"I also deem that you have done justly," said the King. "But what means the sorrow of this lady whom I took under my especial protection? Answer, and carefully!"
"I have promised the Lady Elsa to answer her questions, and I shall likewise answer yours," replied the knight, courteously. "The fighting men of Brabant—stout hearts and true—have gathered here to-day expecting that I shall lead them to the wars. This cannot be. I must tell my story and then bid farewell to all."
A general murmur of dissent arose at this, but the knight stood unmoved waiting for silence. Presently as a hush fell, he began to speak again, slowly and earnestly.
"In a far-away land," he said, "there stands a sacred hill called Mount Salvat. Upon this hill rise the walls and towers of a mystic castle, called the Temple of the Grail, for within it is preserved the most precious relic in all the world—the Holy Grail. The knights who guard this shrine are a close brotherhood who have renounced the world and given their lives to self-sacrifice and good deeds. In reward for this, the sacred Cup gives them power beyond that of other men. They may journey into distant lands to help the weak and relieve distress, and always will they be victorious. But if they disclose the secret of their power, they must return to Mount Salvat.
"Thus was I sent to become the Lady Elsa's champion; and I had fondly hoped to dwell among you and be worthy of her love and trust. But now this cannot be. Enemies have persuaded her that my name and rank must be revealed; so it only is left for me to tell my lineage. I am not ashamed of this. I am the son of Parsifal, chief Guardian of the Grail. My name is Lohengrin."
As he ceased speaking, amid the profound silence, voices were heard from the river's bank.
"The swan! the swan! See, he comes again!"
Elsa threw herself upon the ground in an agony of grief.
"Ah, do not go away!" she moaned, clasping the knight's feet. "Do not go away and leave me! I shall die!"
Lohengrin extended his finger sadly toward the bend in the stream, where the swan drew the boat majestically forward.
"It is the summons of Heaven," he said. "I have no other choice. Farewell, beloved, forever!"
He raised her and she clung wildly to him as though she could not let him go. He gently resisted her.
"See!" he said. "Here is my sword and ring and bugle, which will bring victory in every battle-field. Keep them for your brother, of whom I give you good news. He is alive and may return in safety one day. I had hoped to bring him back to you within the year if I had been permitted to remain."
"But you have failed, my fine hero!" cried a taunting voice which made them all turn quickly. It was Ortrud who had come forward for one last bitter triumph. "You have failed, so you and your pretty little bride may now hear the truth. It wasIwho caused her to ask those troublesome questions! And it wasIwho made away with her precious brother! I know one or two tricks of magic myself, and one of them turned the boy——into yonder swan! Ha, ha, ha!"
She laughed harshly and pointed to the mystic bird now at the river brink, while King and courtiers looked on in amazed silence.
Lohengrin alone remained calm at her outburst. He sank upon his knees and, lifting his noble face so that the sunlight seemed to irradiate it with a glory, he prayed to Heaven earnestly and silently for aid. Suddenly, down a beam of light, a white dove fluttered. It was the dove of the Grail. Accepting this as a sign that his prayer was answered, Lohengrin unfastened the swan from the boat, when the bird vanished beneath the surface of the water, and in its stead rose a fair young knight. Lohengrin took his hand and led him forward.
"This is Godfrey, the rightful Duke of Brabant!" he said. "Behold your chief, who will lead you to victory!"
Godfrey knelt in homage to the King who raised him up and embraced him, while the people promised him their glad allegiance. Then Godfrey and Elsa rushed into each other's arms in the joy of reunion. Overcome with rage, Ortrud sank swooning across the steps of the throne. Meanwhile Lohengrin, seeing that Elsa was in the arms of her brother, entered the boat, whose chains were seized by the tiny dove. A flutter of its wings, and lo! the boat moved easily out on the stream and went swiftly forward against the current.
When Elsa raised her eyes from her dear brother's face, she beheld the boat already far out upon the sunlit water. The knight stood leaning upon his shield, his whole figure shining, it seemed, with unearthly radiance, and alas! fading away like some splendid dream.
With a last despairing cry of "My husband! my husband!" Elsa sank prostrate upon the shore. Her dream it had been, and it was ended.
Tannhäuser the Knight of Song
(Tannhauser)
After the coming of Christianity into the world, people no longer believed in the old gods and goddesses. They were called evil spirits, or else people said that they had never really existed at all. But there was one goddess who was still believed in, although she was feared and even hated. She was Venus, goddess of Love, and in the heyday of her power she was worshipped in many lands. For did not Love stir the hearts of all men, and would it not rule all the world at the last? And so Venus had been given all honour and affection; and in return she had been the kindest of all the deities and had tried to make her subjects happier and more considerate one with another.
But now, as I say, all this was changed. People had ceased to worship Venus, and in revenge she began to do everything she could to injure them. Instead of pure affection which makes the heart glad, she sent a baser love which is only selfish and which brings jealousy and quarrels and heart-aches in its train. And Venus herself, from being a goddess, became a witch. She went to dwell in a deep cavern within a mountain in Germany which came to be called the Venusberg. Here she would lie in wait for men whom she would enchant and keep imprisoned within the mountain forever. They would forget their homes and loved ones—everything—while they served her and were subject to her wiles. They no longer saw the sun or moon or stars or the fresh green of the springing grass. Instead, they lived in a rose-coloured twilight filled with beautiful clouds, the heavy perfume of flowers, and the dancing, laughing figures of youths and maidens—spirits of this mysterious underworld ruled by the witch Venus.
One day while this enchantress was watching and waiting near the entrance to her grotto she saw a knight coming slowly over the mountains. He was young and handsome, with the first fine strength of early manhood, but just now he seemed moody and dispirited. Venus who could read the hearts of men knew who he was and whence he came, but as you have not yet heard, I will pause to tell you.
The young knight's name was Tannhäuser and he lived in the country of Thuringia. At this time there were many minstrels, or strolling singers, in the land, and so popular were they at all the courts that even the knights laid aside their swords and spears and forgot their joustings for the harp and its music and the contests of song. The King of this country, in his castle at Wartburg, had held many song contests or tournaments, and great was the honour to any knight or minstrel who won his prizes.
One of the best harpers and sweetest singers of them all was Tannhäuser. He had early shown a fine ear for music, and when the time came for him to enter the contests, he won many prizes and bade fair to outdistance all the others. Indeed, it was whispered that so appealing were his harp chords and so wonderful was his voice, that he had quite won the heart of the King's niece, the Princess Elizabeth.
Yet Tannhäuser was not entirely happy. He loved the Princess and he loved his music, but although both smiled upon him he felt vaguely dissatisfied. It seemed to him as though the honours and pleasures of the world had come with too little effort. He wanted to reach out beyond for other things still unattainable—he knew not what.
Finally he bade farewell to the Princess, and to his friends at the castle, saying that he was going to travel in distant lands. The parting was sorrowful, although he had fully resolved upon it; and now as he set forth across the mountains carrying only his harp he was doubly sad and cast down.
Suddenly the rock door of a cavern swung aside before his gaze as if by magic. In the dimly lighted entrance he saw a beautiful woman standing and stretching out her arms to him. Her figure was outlined by a halo, as it were, caused by the rosy glow which came from within the cave. It was Venus who sought to lure him. Her terrible witches' eyes were hid behind a smiling face, and she was once again the fairest woman in all the world. Now she wove a spell while she beckoned to him.
"Come," she said softly. "I have seen your unrest and alone can bring you happiness. In my blest land you will find all the music and beauty for which you seek. Come!"
Scarcely knowing what he did, the knight obeyed the enchantress and entered the portal. As he did so the heavy stone closed behind him and at the same moment the memory of his earth-life vanished like a dream. He had become in a moment a subject of Venus. Taking him by the hand she led him far into the depths of her mysterious realm, and at every step his wonder and delight increased. Here the very trees seemed attuned to harmony. There the waves of a deep blue lake sang of love as they beat upon the shore. Out on the water swam bewitching mermaids; while on the strand the light graceful figures of elves and sirens engaged in mimic warfare.
Here at last Tannhäuser thought he had found true beauty and happiness. And so he gladly served his queen for a whole year, thinking of it only as a single day. He had, in fact, completely forgotten his old life, and lived wholly in the present, content with the joys of the moment.
But at last a change came over him. Something, he knew not what, stirred within him and told him that he was a slave. He began to realise that he was under the power of a spell and that he had given up many things for which he now dimly longed. He began to grow restless and silent.
The watchful Venus saw this new mood almost before he was aware of it. Anxious to overcome it, she prepared new and wilder pleasures day by day. Dances, pageants, masquerades, tableaux, banquets and tournaments followed each in bewildering succession. Concerts were given which far excelled the music of earth. Her wiles seemed successful. For the time, Tannhäuser forgot his moodiness; and when Venus asked him to compose a song in her honour, he responded with one full of praise of her beauty and charm. Then he sang of the life at Venusberg and its attractiveness. But even as he sang his new found longing gained hold of him and he ended with an outburst which surprised even him:
"'Tis freedom I must win or die.For freedom I can all defy:In rose-hued grottos I am longingFor all the soft wood zephyrs thronging,For vision of fair heaven's blue,The songs of birds, the old earth's view!Come life, come death, forth would I goTo taste of human joy or woe;No more in slavery would I lie,—O queen, O goddess, let me fly!"
"'Tis freedom I must win or die.For freedom I can all defy:In rose-hued grottos I am longingFor all the soft wood zephyrs thronging,For vision of fair heaven's blue,The songs of birds, the old earth's view!Come life, come death, forth would I goTo taste of human joy or woe;No more in slavery would I lie,—O queen, O goddess, let me fly!"
"'Tis freedom I must win or die.
For freedom I can all defy:
In rose-hued grottos I am longing
For all the soft wood zephyrs thronging,
For vision of fair heaven's blue,
The songs of birds, the old earth's view!
Come life, come death, forth would I go
To taste of human joy or woe;
No more in slavery would I lie,—
O queen, O goddess, let me fly!"
Venus was full of anger at this direct appeal for freedom, in spite of all her arts; but she hid her feelings behind a smile and said in soft tones,
"Whither would you fly? Are not all things here in perfection? What more would you desire? Ask, and you shall be obeyed!"
"I want only freedom," said the knight mournfully.
"What is freedom? Where could you go? The earth you speak of has forgotten you. Here you are immortal and all things are yours."
"Still I would away," persisted Tannhäuser. "I know not where. O queen, give me leave to try another life for myself—something that will meet this new found longing within my breast! I will not be disloyal to your memory. Indeed, I will sing your praise, and yours alone. But give me leave to go!"
"Then depart!" said Venus, her voice growing cold with anger. "Out of my sight, ungrateful mortal! But heed well my warning. You have lost your hold upon the other world by lingering here, and men will shun you when they find whence you come. Some day you will return to me, and willingly. Till then, away!"
[image]"O Queen, O Goddess, let me fly!"J. WagrezPhoto, Braun, Clément & Co.
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"O Queen, O Goddess, let me fly!"J. WagrezPhoto, Braun, Clément & Co.
She stamped her foot, and in a moment the scene changed like the dissolving picture upon a stage. Instead of the grotto with its perfume and dim lights and dancing figures, Tannhäuser found himself lying upon a grassy knoll under the wide blue sky of heaven and with the bright sunlight streaming full upon him. He rose as if waking from a deep sleep, stretched his limbs and took a long breath of the sweet pure air. As he did so he cast his eyes across the valley and instantly his past life came back to him fresh and distinct as if but yesterday.
There stood the noble castle of Wartburg where he had taken part in the contests of song; where the King had been gracious to him; and where the beautiful Elizabeth had smiled at his coming. A pang smote his heart when he remembered her sweet graciousness. Where was she now; and how long had it been since he proved so unworthy of her?
Near by, a shepherd played upon his pipe while his flock grazed contentedly near him. Presently the piper called the sheep and they followed him down the valley to fresh pastures.
Then the sound of men's voices singing came to the knight's ears from a distant mountain path. Slowly it drew near and grew more distinct—a mournful yet beautiful melody chanted by a group of pilgrims on their way to Rome. As the words of the penitential song reached him, the knight felt for the first time the weight of his sin in turning aside from the path of duty. Overcome with remorse he fell upon his knees before a wayside cross and prayed fervently for forgiveness.
While he knelt a new sound smote the air. It was the blast of hunting horns mingled with the joyous baying of hounds. Presently the King himself entered with a troop of huntsmen starting out upon the chase. As they passed near the kneeling knight the King recognised him, and reining his horse he asked kindly where Tannhäuser had been.
"I have been in strange lands, your Majesty," answered the minstrel knight sadly. "I went in search of many things, but I found them not. I pray you let me fare on my way."
"Not so," answered the King. "We have missed you greatly in the lists of song, and upon the chase. Stay with us at least for a time."
The other knights joined the entreaties of the King. To tell the truth, some were not over anxious for his return, as they remembered only too well how he had vanquished them in singing. But there was one of their number who had been Tannhäuser's steadfast friend—Wolfram von Eschenbach by name—who hastened to greet him and urge him to remain with them. Wolfram had been a rival of Tannhäuser, not only in song but also for the favour of the Princess. Yet this did not detract from his generous welcome.
But still the wandering minstrel hesitated to return; and it is probable that he would have gone on his way had not Wolfram said in a low voice,
"Let the welcome of still another win you back to us. There is one yonder in the castle to whom the sight of your face will bring back the light in her eyes and the smile on her lips. In sooth she has drooped sadly since you went away. And the contests of song which she was wont to grace with her presence are now forsaken by her. Need I tell her name to you? Have you indeed forgotten the fairest among maidens, the Princess Elizabeth?"
Tannhäuser trembled violently at the mention of her name. A deep longing came over him to behold her face once more and hear the sound of her voice, although he felt with tenfold anguish the sense of his own unworthiness. His eyes were full of tears as he turned and looked toward the castle shining in the sunlight upon the farther hill.
"I pray you lead me to her presence," he said simply.
"Come!" commanded the King, seeing Wolfram take Tannhäuser by the hand. And turning with all his cavalcade he escorted the wanderer back to the castle with all the pomp of a conqueror.
That very night had been set apart for one of the yearly contests of song; and though the lists had long been closed, the King gave command that Tannhäuser's name should be added. The Princess Elizabeth had not been visible when the company first returned to the castle. But she had heard of her knight's return, and had joyfully promised to attend the contest; so the occasion bade fair to be of more than usual splendour.
In the evening, before the expected guests were assembled, the Princess went to the Minstrels' Hall—a large circular chamber with high columns and arched roof—to attend personally to setting it in order, and also perchance, as her heart confessed, to catch an early glimpse of her beloved knight.
Fair was the Princess as a May morning, with deep blue eyes that had caught some of the far-off sky in them. Her hair was soft and golden and curly as that of a little child. Slight of frame was she, but with a gracefulness and height that gave her a queenly dignity. Her cheeks, too often pale of late, were to-day flushed with animation. She had indeed missed her minstrel sadly, and now her heart bounded at the news of his return.
Presently she heard a familiar footfall in the room, and knew without looking up that it was he.
"O Princess, forgive!" said a voice. Tannhäuser was kneeling at her feet, his hands stretched out imploringly.
"You must not kneel to me," she answered, gently endeavouring to raise him. "It is not for me to forgive. Only tell me where you have been so long."
"I cannot tell you that," he replied brokenly. "I have wandered far away from your dear presence; and between yesterday and to-day the veil of oblivion is dropped. Every remembrance has forever vanished save one thing only rising from the darkness,—the thought that some day I might behold your face again and hear you say, 'I forgive.'"
Elizabeth covered her face with her hands, but the glad tears trickled between her fingers; and Tannhäuser, beholding her emotion, realised how deeply he had been loved and what a pearl he had cast away.
[image]Tannhäuser and ElizabethE. KlimschBy permission of F. Bruckmann, Munich
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Tannhäuser and ElizabethE. KlimschBy permission of F. Bruckmann, Munich
But the Princess like all loving women was forgiving. She asked no more questions of the minstrel, but when he took one of her hands and then the other, as all lovers will, she let them linger in his own in perfect content.
The entrance of the King broke upon their little scene of reconciliation. He saw it all at a glance and came forward with a frank smile.
"Ah, it is as I had hoped!" he said, as he took a hand of each and held it for a moment. "Now let us have no more quarrels, but live together as harmoniously as one of our minstrel's songs."
Thus it was that Tannhäuser realised, in a great wave of thankfulness, that his old life was still open to him, and not closed as Venus had said. He resolved to be worthy henceforth of his position and honours. Above all would he cherish this sweet Princess who loved him so unselfishly.
Not long after this, the sound of trumpets proclaimed that the contest was about to begin. The King and the Princess took their places upon a dais at one side of the hall, while Tannhäuser retired to make his proper entry with the other minstrel knights.
Soon the people began to throng the hall. Nobles and ladies came first and passed before the throne and bowed before taking their seats. Then came warriors and chosen guests. And finally with another flourish of the trumpets entered the singers of the evening. Each was a famous knight who like Tannhäuser had laid aside the sword in favour of the gentler harp. The fame of some of these knights, like Wolfram von Eschenbach and Walter von der Vogelweide, is known to this day. But among them all none was more handsome or of better renown than Tannhäuser.
As these knights did obeisance and took the places assigned to them, the King rose and thanked them all for their attendance. The subject of the songs, he said, was to be "Love"; and whoso should sing best on this lofty theme should receive the prize from the hand of the Princess Elizabeth. Let him ask what he would added the generous King, and it should be granted.
More than one of the knights had been a suitor for the Princess's hand, and they saw in this promise a reward for their dearest hopes. So you may imagine what a wave of suppressed excitement went around all the crowded hall at this announcement. The hands of the minstrels trembled as they drew lots for the order of their songs.
The lot of Wolfram came first, and amid a profound hush he rose to begin.
Thrumming the harp strings with a practised hand he began in a low clear voice to sing of unselfish devotion and chivalry. Wolfram had long loved the Princess, but had generously yielded place in favour of his friend Tannhäuser. Now his song showed the nobility of the man. He paid tribute to the ladies of the court among whom the Princess shone as some rare gem. Then, his voice rising steadily higher till it thrilled his hearers, he sang of the one true love that counted its highest joy the sacrifice of even life itself for the loved one.
When Wolfram had finished, the hall resounded with cries of acclamation; for indeed his song had been beautiful, and no less true. Tannhäuser alone did not join in the applause. While the song was being sung he had sat silent as one in a dream. Again before his eyes came the vision of the fairy grotto with its gorgeous pictures and entrancing music. He, seemed to see the bewitching figure of Venus and to hear his own voice as he promised her, "I will sing your praise and yours alone."
Scarcely knowing what he did, Tannhäuser sprang to his feet, before the applause for his rival had subsided, and began to sing an answer to Wolfram's strain. But how different was his theme! Instead of the pure exalted love which gloried in self-sacrifice, he sang of selfish desire which sought only for personal gratification. Truly the enchantment was still upon him, for he could think only of the life of the grotto and the round of pleasures which had been planned for him, rather than of any devotion upon his own part. But that was the way in which Venus, once the goddess of true love, now weakened men's minds.
When Tannhäuser began to sing, the audience gave him close heed. He had not proceeded far, however, with his strange theme, when murmurs of anger and dissent began to be heard, which increased until one of the minstrels at length sprang to his feet.
"The love you sing is false!" he cried; "false as your own heart! We will not hear it in silence, nor suffer you thus to cast a slur upon all true knights. I challenge you to mortal combat!"
These words were loudly cheered by other minstrels. The entire hall was in an uproar until the King arose and commanded silence. Then Wolfram was seen standing once more with harp in hand, beckoning to be heard.
In words of kindly reproach he rebuked Tannhäuser for his selfish and unworthy song. He could not know what real devotion was, Wolfram said, if he placed it upon so low a plane. Then Wolfram again touched his harp strings and sang a pleasing tender refrain in praise of the love to which they all aspired.
But Tannhäuser rudely interrupted him, and heeding not the clamour which broke forth again, he sang in wild reckless fashion of the life he had led during the past year. He told of the grotto, its music, its perfumes, its exquisite scenes and round of delights presided over by Venus herself.
"Your heroic self-sacrifice," he ended sneeringly, "is cold and tame in comparison with this! And the fairest women of earth pale into insignificance beside this wonderful goddess. Ah, Venus! I have kept my promise!Thinebe the praise!"
He ended as one in a trance—as in truth the poor knight must have been. He stood motionless with gaze fixed as it were upon some hidden scene, while his harp fell clattering from his hand to the ground.
Then the outcry burst forth with redoubled fury. The minstrels surged forward tumultuously crying,
"He has been to the Venusberg! He has fallen under the power of the evil one! Away with him! Kill him!"
In their anger and horror of him they must have slain him, had not someone interposed. But quick as thought a slender, white-robed figure stood between them and the misguided knight, and held out her hands entreatingly. It was Elizabeth. She had sat there sick at heart listening to her chosen minstrel's song. All too well she saw how unworthy was the one to whom she had given her heart; but, once given, she could not recall it in a moment. She would pray for him, and live in the hope that he might yet prove worthy.
"Stop!" she cried to the nobles who circled about Tannhäuser, with swords drawn, "Stop, I command you! Would you slay him with all his sins ripe upon his head?"
"He has dishonoured knighthood!" muttered the minstrel who had previously challenged him. "He deserves no mercy."
"Then that is all the more reason why you should grant mercy," she answered.
By this time the King had asserted his authority, and soon the semblance of peace was restored. Then Elizabeth in all her sweet dignity pleaded the cause of Tannhäuser. Addressing now the King, now the nobles, and now the knight himself, she pointed out that Tannhäuser was still under the spell of evil into which he had fallen, and was not accountable for his deeds.
"Give him another opportunity, O my King!" she concluded. "Perchance in the doing of some penance or some gracious act, his better heart will assert itself, and he will then see how he has wounded all our hearts this day."
As she finished speaking she turned, to find at her feet the penitent knight. The vision had passed leaving him bowed down under the burden of his sin and unworthiness. He kissed the hem of her garment while tears flowed fast and unchecked from his eyes. For his life he cared not a straw. But that he should have sunk so low in the eyes of this noble woman—the thought smote his heart with keenest anguish!
Then the voice of the King came to him, as it were an echo,—
"One path alone can save you from perdition and everlasting woe, abandoned man! That path is now open to your steps. To-day a band of pilgrims are setting forth on their toilsome way to Rome. Depart with them and seek pardon for your sins."
Even as the King spoke, a chant was heard through the open portal. Tannhäuser recognised it as the same sweet strain he had heard that morning by the wayside cross. He kissed the hem of Elizabeth's robe once again and dared to look with mute entreaty into her eyes. Then he sprang quickly to his feet and addressed the King in two wild, hopeful words.
"To Rome!" he cried, and hurried from the hall to join the pilgrim band.