Just at this time the King of all Germany came down to Brabant. With
pomp and ceremony he came, bringing rough knights from Saxony and brave
nobles from Thuringia, all good men and true, to bear him company.
Henry the First was he, a wise king and a just. People called him Henry
the Fowler because he was so fond of hunting. It may be, however, that
it was not the hunt that he loved so much as the great out-of-doors, the
wide plains, the wild forests, the winding rivers. Whenever he summoned
his faithful subjects to discuss affairs of peace or war, he chose some
meeting place under the blue sky, in God's temple, where men breathe
deeply, think clearly, and judge rightly.
So, when at Brabant King Henry found no duke to greet him; when,
instead, he heard of strife, of discord, and of strange whispers, he sat
himself down beneath a giant oak on the bank of the winding river
Scheldt. And the trumpeters blew a great blast, the herald proclaimed
the King's presence, the trusty men who had come to bear him company
stood at arms, while the Brabantians gathered from north and south, from
east and west, of the Duchy to hearken to the King's word.
"I had come here, my good people," began the King, "to ask the aid of
your forces in subduing the wild Hungarian foe. Full well do I know
that as loyal German subjects you are ready to answer your country's
call. But I find discord in your midst, strife and confusion. Therefore
have I called you together to learn the causes thereof and to deal
justly with the offenders, be it possible."
The people of Brabant were pleased with the King's words and looked to
Frederick of Telramund to make answer. Frederick arose. Behind him stood
his wife, the dark-haired princess Ortrud, ready to prompt him should he
hesitate.
But false Frederick did not hesitate. His voice did not tremble,
although he spoke with much show of grief. He made a low obeisance to
the King and besought sympathy for the sad tale he was about to tell. He
told how the dying Duke had intrusted Elsa and Godfrey to his care, how
tenderly he had reared them, how devotedly he had loved them, and how
sorely the mysterious disappearance of Godfrey had grieved him. And
then, he continued, he had been forced to believe that Elsa had murdered
her brother in order to claim the whole Duchy for herself--or
mayhap--for some secret lover. Therefore he, Frederick of Telramund, and
his wife Ortrud, by right of inheritance, besought the King to make them
Duke and Duchess of Brabant.
"An astounding story indeed!" The free-men muttered to each other. The
nobles looked at Frederick and shook their heads. "The man must be sure
of his proof to make such an accusation," said they, as they turned
toward the King.
King Henry sat with bowed head, in deep thought. He ran his hand over
his forehead, pondered a moment, and then murmured:
"So foul a deed!"
Aloud he said:
"I would see this maid. I would look upon her face. I would hear her
tale. And may God guide my judgment aright."
Hanging his shield on the giant oak behind him, King Henry swore never
to wear it again until justice had been done. And all the German nobles
drew their swords and thrust them, points down, into the ground,
swearing never to wear them again until justice had been done. And the
men of Brabant laid their swords at their feet, swearing the same. Then
the herald summoned Elsa.
She came, the fair-haired Elsa, clad all in white, with her train of
ladies, all in white, behind her. They paused, and she, with hands
clasped and eyes cast down, advanced timidly, slowly, alone, until she
stood before the King. Her golden hair, unbound, hung a cloud of glory
about her. How young she was! How lovely! The rough knights gazed upon
her, and their eyes filled with tears. Surely no maiden with such a face
could be guilty of such a crime.
The King spoke very gently. Was she Elsa of Brabant? She bowed her
head. Did she know the heavy charge that had been brought against her?
She bowed again. Was she willing that he, King Henry, should judge her?
Once more her head was bowed in assent. And it was only when the King
asked whether she was guilty of this murder that Elsa found voice. She
wrung her hands piteously, and exclaimed, "Oh, my poor, poor brother!"
A dreamy look was upon Elsa's face as she told her story. Her voice
trembled, and her eyes strayed over the distant hills. It was as though
she saw it all again.
She told of that day in the woods, her sad walk alone, her deep grief,
her utter weariness. She told of her rest beneath the friendly tree and
of the blue heaven overhead. But when she told of her prayer to God for
guidance in her distress, her faltering voice grew stronger, braver.
Rapturously, she told of her dream, and of the noble knight whose white
armor had glittered in the sunlight, of his sword, his horn, and,
last, of his promise.
"Him will I trust!" she cried. "He shall my Champion be!"
The knights, the nobles, the King, were startled. But Frederick of
Telramund cried out.
"Such words do not mislead me. See! does she not speak of a secret
lover? What further proof do you need? Here stand I, and here's my
sword, both ready to fight for my honor."
Now since King Henry believed that God in His wisdom would surely give
might to the hands that fought for Right, he asked Frederick if he were
ready to fight for life or death to uphold this charge that he had
brought.