the duke then sent for his kinsman, Count Telramund. This man was
imperious and hot-tempered, with manners uncouth as a bear; but he was
brave as a lion, and the duke had full confidence in his good heart and
knightly honor.
The count hastened to obey the royal summons.
“My trusted friend and kinsman, Frederick of Telramund,” said the duke,
“I am dying. With my last breath I confide to thy care my beloved
children, Elsa and Godfrey. Watch over them, protect them from all ill
till Godfrey be of an age to reign, and Elsa is married to a husband she
loves. Until then, I appoint thee as Regent and Protector in Brabant.”
Count Telramund knelt by the side of the dying duke, and swore solemnly
to fulfil the trust, and, if needs be, to lay down his life for the young
prince and princess.
“Thank Heaven!” murmured the duke. “And now, my cousin, is there aught
that I can do for thee, in return for so great a service?” he asked.
“Oh, most noble prince, there is one boon I would ask, were it not so
great a gift I scarce dare even to name it!” answered the count.
“Whatever thy wish, cousin, it is granted, if it be in my power to bestow
it,” said the duke readily. “What is thy request?”
“Most gracious sovereign,” stammered the count, growing red to the roots
of his tawny beard, “I love the Princess Elsa—wilt thou give her to me to
be my wife?”
Elsa started. Without stirring, and her face deadly pale, she listened
breathlessly for her father’s reply.
“Gladly would I give my child to thy safe keeping, noble cousin. But in
this matter I must leave the maiden free to choose for herself. If she
accept thy hand, thou hast my full consent and blessing. More than this
I cannot say.”
The count knelt and pressed his lips to the hand of the dying duke, who,
blessing Telramund, sank back exhausted and bade him farewell.
Shortly after, the good prince died, at peace with all.
Elsa, heartbroken at her father’s death, found her only consolation in
her young brother Godfrey. For a long time she refused to see anyone else.
Count Telramund often sought opportunity to speak with her, but she
avoided him with dread.
Then Telramund changed his tone, and demanded her hand as his right, the
dying bequest of her father the duke.
“My father left me free,” answered Elsa, indignant. “Never would he wish
me to give my hand where I could not give my heart also, sir count.”
No woman, and very few men, had ever dared to contradict his wishes;
sooner or later, he vowed, she should be his.
Now there was a wicked lady, of a tall, commanding figure, dark and
handsome—Ortruda by name. She was very learned, and had studied all
manner of sorceries, which enabled her to exert the magic power of a
witch. Her forefathers had once been mighty princes, who reigned over
Brabant and all the countries round. She regarded Elsa and Godfrey as
usurpers, holding what rightfully belonged to her; and she hated them
with a bitter hatred. Also, there was another and a deeper cause for her
hatred towards Elsa; and that was, that she herself had long wished to
marry Count Telramund.
One day Telramund came to Ortruda and told her how Elsa had dared to
despise his love, and reject his hand. That he should confide in her
pleased Ortruda well; also that Elsa should refuse the count, though she
loved her none the more for doing so.
“The impertinent minx, to take on such airs!”
Telramund found comfort in Ortruda’s indignation. His heart was set on
marrying Elsa, and he was willing to wait long if only he might win her
in the end.
When Ortruda saw this, she laid a deep plot, by means of which she hoped
to turn his love from Elsa. In the depths of the forest was a lonely
tower. Here Ortruda was wont to retire and study sorcery, for long days
and nights together. She became at last so practiced, that she could by
enchantments change people into different birds and beasts.
One day, Elsa and Godfrey were roaming together alone in the forest.
Ortruda, always on the watch, followed them, unseen, at a distance. After
a while they sat down to rest by the side of a pool, whose still depths,
it was said, no one had ever fathomed.
Presently, Elsa and Godfrey were startled by hearing a piercing, pitiful
cry, like that of some animal caught in a trap. Godfrey started up,
crying: “I must go and free that poor beast! Rest here a while, Elsa; I
will return shortly.”
He sprang lightly through the thickly growing bushes and trees, and was
soon hidden from sight.
Elsa waited by the pool, thinking of all the happy plans she and Godfrey
had been making for the future, when he would reign as duke. The trees
overhead rustled strangely, and Elsa, looking up, saw a great white swan
circling round, and waving his wings wildly as though in distress. Then
with a sad cry, he flew away.
Elsa grew uneasy. Surely an hour must have passed, yet Godfrey had not
returned! She called aloud: “Godfrey! Godfrey! where art thou?” But there
was no answer save the echo of her own voice, which rang through the wood
as though mocking her anxious cry.
Then, in deadly fear, she started up and tried to trace his steps, but
the dense thicket left no track. Pale and trembling, Elsa returned at
last to the palace, and told how Godfrey had mysteriously disappeared.
That night the forest was searched from end to end with torches and
lanterns, and all the following day the search continued, but not a trace
of the missing boy could be found.
Two days after Godfrey’s disappearance, Ortruda came to Telramund. She
appeared in deep distress, saying she had something to reveal, and
dared no longer keep silence. “Alas!” replied Ortruda, “what I know
is well-nigh too terrible to be spoken. Who will credit my dark tale?
Listen,” she continued; “thy search for Godfrey is useless.”
“Two days ago I sat alone meditating in my tower in the forest, when I
espied Elsa and Godfrey sitting together by the pool—that awful pool
where, ’tis said, a drowning man may sink for a thousand years, yet never
touch the bottom. On a sudden I heard a cry, and looking, saw Elsa,
aided by a stranger, whose face was turned to me, push her young brother
backward into the dread pool.”
“Horrible! most horrible!” cried Telramund. “Thou sawest this with thine
own eyes?”
“I saw it with these same eyes, that will I swear, though it were with my
last breath!” replied Ortruda.
“Who could dream that such black sin dwelt in one so young and fair!”
“Ay,” said Ortruda, eyeing him askance; “and knowing that thou lovedst
her, I would have kept silence. But when thine enemies whispered
that thou, being next of kin, might thyself have caused the lad’s
disappearance, then my love for thee made me bold to speak the dread
secret.”
“I thank thee, Ortruda. Thou hast ever shown thyself my faithful friend,”
said Telramund. “It were better had I given my love to thee, instead of
wasting it on one so unworthy.”
“My father’s house once ruled in this land, and, in justice, should be
ruling still. Ah! were poor Ortruda queen, with what joy would she lay
her kingdom at thy feet, noblest and bravest of men!”
“Thou art worthy to be a queen!” cried Telramund, “and that shalt thou
be, noble and wise Ortruda! For here do I swear to make thee my wife,
instead of her in whom I have been so woefully deceived. As for the
murderess, her cruel deed shall be brought to light. She shall be tried
by our king, Henry of Germany, and both she and her base lover will
assuredly be condemned to death.”
In obedience to Telramund’s orders, Elsa was then put under arrest, and
placed in a dark prison-cell, to await her trial before the king. She
was kept a close prisoner, no one save the followers of Telramund and
Ortruda being allowed to come near her. In her grief and despair she
knelt one night and prayed, one long bitter cry for help. And all at once
her prayer seemed taken up, as though on angels’ wings; above the narrow
prison-cell—up, up, till it pierced the utmost heights of the sky above.
Elsa listened till she heard the faint echo fade away far overhead. And,
as she wondered what it might mean, a gentle sleep closed her eyes. She
dreamt; and in her dream she saw a noble knight in shining silver armor.
Swiftly through the air he came, and, descending to her prison-cell,
stood by her side. No word did he speak, but with looks and signs he bade
her banish all fear and sorrow, and trust in him, for he was sent by
Heaven in answer to her cry.
When Elsa woke, the bitterness of her grief had passed. The vision had
departed, but she felt assured her prayer was heard, and that, sooner
or later, the Heaven-sent knight of her dream would come and bring her
deliverance.
THE KNIGHTS OF THE HOLY GRAIL
By Constance Maud
Far away, in the mountains of Spain, there dwelt a holy band of knights,
vowed to the service of all those in distress or need.
The famous Knight Parsifal was at this time king of the Order, and under
his reign the Knights of the Holy Grail were unsurpassed for valor and
truth. When any cry of distress went up to Heaven, the great bells of the
Grail temple would commence to swing slowly to and fro, and at this sign
the knights assembled in their temple, whatever the hour, day or night:
there the Holy Grail would reveal to them, in letters of fire, what
service was required.
The same night on which Elsa knelt in her prison-cell, far away in
Antwerp, the mighty bells of Mount Salvat suddenly broke the stillness
of the peaceful night. With Parsifal at their head, the brothers of the
Holy Grail hastened to the temple. Among them was one Lohengrin, a young
knight of most noble fame, son of Parsifal, the king.
Round the altar knelt the knights; while the king mounted the steps and
took from a golden shrine the miraculous crystal Cup, known as the Holy
Grail. A dazzling ray of light instantly streamed down from the dome
above the altar, lighting up the Cup, which then began to glow with
letters of fire written round the brim. Parsifal held the Cup aloft, that
all might read the message: “There is one falsely accused, in sore need
and trouble—the Princess Elsa of Brabant.” So ran the writing on the Holy
Grail. The glowing letters slowly faded and vanished.
But while the knights discussed among themselves which of them should
at once depart for Brabant, the Cup again glowed with another message:
“Let Lohengrin, the son of Parsifal, make ready and depart. He it is,
appointed to be her champion.”
Lohengrin rejoiced greatly at being chosen. Kneeling before his father,
he craved a blessing before setting out on his journey. Then, buckling on
his armor and his sword, a golden horn slung round his neck, he mounted
his black charger, and rode off into the silent forest.
On he rode. The tall, dark pine trees met over his head; the silver moon
peeped between the branches, lighting him on his way. All the forest
slept. At length he came to the river which marked the boundary of the
Grail dominions. He was about to ford the stream, when, to his amazement,
he beheld a boat, drawn by a snow-white swan, evidently awaiting him.
Lohengrin dismounted, and recognized the swan as a bird which had not
long since appeared among them, and taken up his abode with the knights.
As a white swan had always been held in good omen by the knights, the
bird received a hearty welcome. And the more so when, shortly after his
arrival, the Grail revealed that the bird was none other than a youth
of noble birth, the innocent victim of a wicked enchantment. Round the
swan’s neck was a fine gold chain of curious workmanship, with neither
clasp nor fastening, so that no man could remove it without injury to the
bird. From the day he appeared, the swan attached himself specially to
Lohengrin. He would follow him about like a dog, and often gazed into his
face as though he longed to speak with him.
Seeing this faithful bird awaiting him, Lohengrin asked him: “Wilt thou
that I go with thee, dear swan?” The bird instantly bent his graceful
head, and spread wide his white wings, as though impatient to start.
Lohengrin then dismissed his horse, bidding him return to Mount Salvat,
stepped into the boat, and the swan sailed away joyfully with him. Down
the river they floated swiftly. The swan seemed quite sure of his way.
Even when they came at last to the sea, he never paused, but steered a
steady course right out of the bay, and away across the wide ocean.
LOHENGRIN THE CHAMPION OF ELSA OF BRABANT
By Constance Maud
In the city of Antwerp great preparations were going forward.
King Henry of Germany had arrived in state, and had summoned all the
ministers and chief nobles of Brabant to appear before him.
Elsa, in her prison-cell, was wakened early with the news that she would
be tried this day before the king, in face of all the people.
She heard as though it scarce concerned her. Since the vision of the
knight in shining armor, she no longer seemed to dwell in the dark
prison. Her thoughts were far away, and she cared nothing for what took
place around her.
It was noon when the king, with his heralds, outriders, and a numerous
retinue, proceeded in solemn state to the Judgment Oak. Mid the cheers
and blessings of the people, he ascended a gorgeous throne prepared for
him.
Count Telramund bowed low before the king. Then, in a clear ringing
voice, told his story, and made his accusation against Elsa, Princess of
Brabant, of whose horrible crime he said he had, alas, convincing proof.
He then claimed the kingdom of Brabant for himself, as next of kin to the
late duke, and also in right of his noble wife Ortruda, whose fathers
once ruled in that land.
“Now, O most noble king, thou hast heard me fully,” he concluded. “Naught
have I spoken but the truth—my oath upon it. Be thou our judge.”
The crowd shuddered with horror at the story of Elsa’s crime. Their
own princess, so gentle and fair, the cruel murderess of her brother!
Impossible! Yet who dare dispute it, since Count Telramund, whose honor
no man could doubt, himself swore to the fact.
“What terrible accusation dost thou bring? Bid the accused appear!” cried
the king. “The trial shall forthwith begin.”
The herald blew his trumpet, and proclaimed the king’s order. There
was a stir in the crowd. All eyes turned towards her as Elsa appeared,
followed by her ladies. Slowly she walked to the foot of the throne,
gazing before her like one in a dream.
“Art thou Elsa of Brabant?” asked the king. Elsa bowed her head.
“Dost thou know the charge that is brought against thee?” he demanded
sternly.
Again Elsa assented, dropping her head sadly, but without speaking.
“What answer canst thou make? Dost admit thy guilt?” the king inquired.
She gazed around her with a bewildered air, as though trying to remember
something long forgotten.
“Alas,” she sighed, “my poor brother!”
The people murmured: “’Tis marvellous! What can it mean?”
“Speak, Elsa!” urged the king, wondering at her strange behavior. “Dost
thou not trust in thy king?”
Then Elsa spoke in a low gentle voice, as to herself when alone in the
prison: “In my misery I knelt one night and besought God’s aid. My woeful
cry seemed all at once caught up to the highest heaven. I listened
wondering, then peace fell on my spirit, and a gentle sleep came over me.”
The King thought Elsa’s mind was certainly affected, whether from
brooding on her crime, or on her innocence and the injustice of her
imprisonment, he could not tell. “Come, Elsa,” he said, in a rousing
tone, “defend thyself now before the judge.”
But Elsa appeared neither to hear nor understand, and continued her dream
with a look of rapture: “Borne through the air he came—a knight of such
perfection and nobility never yet I saw! Clothed in glittering armor—in
his hand a sword—slung round his neck a golden horn! No word he spake,
but gazed on me tenderly. Peace and comfort came to me with his look.
That knight will be my champion and deliverer!”
The king was sorely perplexed. This dreamy maiden hardly seemed like a
criminal. Looking at the sad, fair face of the prisoner, he could not
find it in his heart to believe her guilty. Yet he held the count, as a
true and honorable knight, incapable of falsehood; one who had, besides,
risked his life for king and country.
Turning to the count, he then asked solemnly: “Frederick of Telramund,
wilt thou in mortal combat let Heaven’s ordeal decide thine accusation as
true or false?”
“Yea, that will I, O king,” answered Telramund, with proud confidence.
“And thee also, I ask, Elsa of Brabant, wilt thou abide by Heaven’s
decree in the mortal combat that shall be fought for thy cause?”
Elsa’s eyes were fixed on the far distance. “Yea, that will I,” she
replied slowly.
“What champion shall defend thee?” asked the king.
“That knight whom Heaven sent me! He and none other shall be my
champion,” replied Elsa. “And this is the reward I offer. He shall wear
my father’s crown, and high honor I shall deem it to give to him my land,
my wealth, and my hand.”
“A prize worth fighting for!” murmured the people. Their hearts beat
true to their princess, in spite of appearances against her.
“Let the summons go forth!” cried the king.
The heralds and trumpeters then marched to the outposts and proclaimed
the challenge, so that all might hear it, far and near: “Let him who will
fight in mortal combat for Elsa of Brabant now appear!” There was a long
pause, and breathless silence followed. The echo of the trumpet’s blast
died away into the distance. But no one appeared in answer to the call.
Elsa listened, looking round on all sides, with anxious, expectant gaze.
“O gracious king,” implored Elsa, “I beseech thee let the call go forth
once again to summon my knight. He dwells so far he has not heard.”
“Let the summons go forth yet once more,” he ordered. Again the heralds
proclaimed the challenge.
There followed a longer pause and a longer silence. No one stirred.
The people scarcely seemed to breathe, so great was the suspense and
expectation.
Elsa fell on her knees, while her maidens closed round as though to
protect her. “O Lord,” she cried, “send my knight speedily, I beseech
thee. Once, at Thy command, he came to me. Oh, send him now again. Tell
him of my sore need,” she implored in despair. Her women knelt also,
weeping and praying.
Suddenly a cry went up from the people standing near the river-bank:
“See! A wondrous sight! A swan! a swan drawing a boat! And, standing in
the prow, behold a knight in shining armor. Lo, he comes with utmost
speed!” All rushed forward eagerly to see.
The king from his throne looked towards the river and beheld the amazing
sight. Elsa, on her knees, listened spellbound, in a transport of joy.
Frederick of Telramund, struck dumb with awe and astonishment, looked at
Ortruda. Her face had turned to an ashen hue. Her glittering eyes were
dull, as though the light within had suddenly gone out. She gazed at the
swan with greater terror than had he been a dragon.
“’Tis a miracle! A miracle of Heaven!” exclaimed the men.
The women, on their knees, cried joyfully: “Oh, God be thanked, who hast
heard our prayer! Hail to the Heaven-sent one who comes to save the
guiltless!”
The boat had now reached the bank. Lohengrin stepped lightly to land,
and then turned lovingly to the swan: “My thanks to thee, beloved swan,”
he said. “Return now o’er the waters to the blessed land from whence we
came. Faithfully hast thou fulfilled thy task. Farewell, beloved swan.”
He gazed sadly after his faithful companion, as the swan slowly turned
and swam away.
The crowd made way for him eagerly, as Lohengrin advanced to the king’s
throne and bowed low. As he raised his head, Elsa turned, and uttered a
cry of joy at beholding no other than the knight of her vision.
“Hail, royal Henry! May the blessing of Heaven ever rest on thee!” said
Lohengrin.
“Welcome, sir knight!” replied the king graciously. “Surely by a miracle
divine thou art come to this land?”
“I have been sent, O king, to fight for the honor of an innocent maiden,
in sore need and distress,” answered Lohengrin. Then, going before Elsa,
he asked her: “Wilt thou trust thy cause to me, O Elsa of Brabant? Wilt
thou take me for thy champion without doubt or fear?”
Elsa raised her eyes to his. “My deliverer, my knight—with my whole heart
do I trust thee!” she answered. Lohengrin knelt and, taking her hand in
his, asked: “And if, with Heaven’s help, I win this fight for thee, wilt
thou consent to be my bride?”
“I am thine—thine only, my knight. All I have I give thee gladly!” said
Elsa, with shining eyes.
“One promise wilt thou give me?”
“To thee will I promise anything,” Elsa answered readily.
“Then if thou desirest, as I, that nothing part us ever—that thy people
and thy country become from henceforth my people and my country—never
shalt thou ask of me my name and race, or whence I come,” said Lohengrin
earnestly.
“Never will I seek to know thy secret. Thy love is enough for me—naught
else do I desire!”
“But Elsa, think well what it is I ask,” urged Lohengrin. “Never must
thou desire this knowledge, and never must this secret between us cause
thee sadness.”
Elsa was troubled that Lohengrin repeated his request. There was nothing
in the world she would not gladly grant to him—her champion, her
deliverer. “Thou hast never doubted my innocence,” she answered. “Dost
thou not trust in me? And shall not I also trust in thee, my knight,
whate’er thou askest of me?”
Then Lohengrin stood forth, and, in a ringing voice that all might hear,
proclaimed: “Hear now, all ye people, and ye nobles of Brabant! I hereby
declare, before Heaven and before all men, by my honor as a knight, that
free from every shadow of guilt is the maiden Elsa, Princess of Brabant.
False and unfounded is thy black charge, Frederick of Telramund, and that
will I prove by Heaven’s ordeal!”
Telramund advanced with angry mien and flashing eyes: “What magic brought
thee here, sir stranger, I know not. Thy talk is bold enough! But my
answer is not in words. This, my good sword, shall defend mine honor. May
victory be to right and truth, say I!”
Lohengrin turned towards the throne: “We await thy command, O king, to
commence the combat.”
The king ordered the fighting-ring to be measured; and this being done,
he then besought Heaven that in this fight victory might be, not as in
other fights, to skill and strength, but to the one on whose side was
right. And all the people fervently echoed the good king’s prayer.
Scarce a breath could be heard. Every eye was fixed on the gleaming
swords, as they cut the air like flashes of lightning, and clashed with
sharp, ringing strokes.
A few intense moments, which seemed to Elsa’s beating heart a very
eternity; then a crash of falling armor, a wild shout from the people,
and the fight was over.
Telramund had fallen; over him, like an angel of judgment, stood
Lohengrin. “Through Heaven’s victory, thy life is mine!” he cried. “I
give it thee again, that thou mayest use it for repentance.”
“Victory, victory! Hail to the hero!” shouted a thousand glad voices.
“The victory I owe to thy innocence alone,” said Lohengrin to Elsa. “All
that thou hast suffered shall now be atoned to thee.” Then Lohengrin
and Elsa were lifted on the shields of the nobles, and all the people
marched round them in a triumphal procession, shouting a hymn of joyful
thanksgiving, in which the good King Henry himself joined lustily.
Only Ortruda and the defeated Telramund stood sullenly apart. “Woe is
me! Mine honor and fame are undone,” muttered the count. “It would seem
indeed that Heaven is against me.”
Ortruda, with clenched hands, asked herself in dismay: “Who can this be?
Before whom even I feel my powers weaken! Who? and from whence?”
ORTRUDA PLOTS FOR REVENGE
By Constance Maud
The stars came out in the deep blue sky of night, waiting for the summer
moon.
The stately walls of the royal palace of Antwerp threw mysterious shadows
all around. And in the darkness of these shadows crept two figures
stealthily. They seated themselves at length under a tree which faced the
windows of the Princess Elsa’s apartments.
Looking up, they saw a light still burning.
Then they talked together earnestly in muffled tones.
By and by the moon arose, and cast her silvery light about, shifting the
shadows according to her royal pleasure.
The two dark figures, a man and a woman, moved with the shadows, still
keeping close to the palace. They took no thought of rest or sleep that
night.
The man looked at the woman, and shuddered.