The second ballade, in D flat major, is more melodious and attractive,
but less strong. It is dedicated to Liszt’s life-long friend and
powerful patron, the Duke of Weimar, and, out of compliment to him,
treats of an episode in the Duke’s family history, back in the days of
the second Crusade.
A young and gallant chief of the house of Weimar stands in the rosy
light of early dawn, on the highest turret of his castle, with his newly
wedded bride, taking a long farewell of her and of their fair domain,
for at sunrise he leads his knights and men-at-arms to the crusade, and
the return is years distant and uncertain. Their mood is full of sadness
and yet of a strong, religious exultation and trust. His mission is a
grand and glorious one. Heaven will surely guide and protect its
faithful knights, and his lady bids him Godspeed, though with tearful
eyes. From the castle court below, sounds of gathering troops and
martial preparation rise to their ears, at first faintly, then with
growing din and clamor, till a burst of trumpets greets the rising sun;
the gates are flung open and, hastily descending, he takes his place at
the head of his forces and they march away to the strains of inspiriting
military music. The lady still stands alone on her turret, waving her
greetings—stands there, as he sees her last, flooded with the glory of
the morning, an embodiment of love and hope and promise—a vision to
haunt his waking dreams in far-away Palestine, to cheer his lonely
camp-fire vigils and lead him to victory on the field of action.
As she still stands dreamily watching the last gleam of the
spear-points, the last flutter of the receding banners, the sanguine
fancy of youth leaps the intervening years, and she thinks she hears the
strains of the martial music at the head of the returning army coming in
triumph back from a successful campaign.
The successive moments in the story above sketched are given with
realistic distinctness in the music, and can be followed without
difficulty.