Chapter IV: Introduction (4)

"Nay, but all these things must not be!" said Parsifal. "Dost thou remember telling me, long ago, that the sacred Spear--this Spear!--would heal Amfortas of his wound? I set forth to seek it that very day. Come, let us take it into his presence!"

"Pray God the oracle may come true!" exclaimed the keeper joyfully. "And thou dost come at a good season, for it is the Good Friday service to-day, and Amfortas has promised to uncover the Holy Grail once again, be the cost what it may. But before we go up, thou must rest and be cleansed at this spring; and I will procure a white robe for thee."

So Parsifal laved his face and his hands at the spring, while the old man went in haste for the white robe. And while he sat there, the woman came up timidly and knelt down and unfastened his sandals and washed his feet. Then Parsifal looked down and remembered her.

"Thou art Kundry," he said; "thou hast come a long hard way, even as I have come." He sprinkled her brow with a few drops of water from the spring. "I baptise thee into a new life," he said; "come with us this day to the temple."

The tears rained down glad Kundry's face; and as she knelt there, it was transformed again into the loveliness of the maiden of the flower-garden, but purer, sweeter, and of a radiance not of earth. She was redeemed!

Just then the soft chimes of the temple bells rang forth bidding them come to the service. The keeper returned with the garment which he put upon Parsifal and the three went up the path to the gates, Parsifal in the centre, bearing the sacred Spear.

They had no sooner entered than the procession of knights filed by, preceded by the choir-boys who sang of the Holy Grail. Last of all came Amfortas, slowly and as if in great pain. He paused before the shrine and made as if to open it, while all the knights gathered about in reverent waiting.

Suddenly he paused, clasped his hands to his side and cried out:

"No! no! I cannot do it! Death is so near me, only let me die! slay me with your swords and choose another Guardian of the Grail! I cannot bear to unveil the Holy Cup! Kill me, kill me, I pray you!"

His brow was wet with agony and he writhed with pain so that the knights drew back from him in terror.

Just then Parsifal drew near in his flowing white robe bearing the Spear aloft.

"Peace, O Amfortas!" he said quietly. "Only one weapon will ease thee of that pain: it is the one that caused it."

And with the sacred Spear he touched the wound; and lo! it was healed in an instant, and Amfortas' agony was changed to rapture as he knelt before the altar.

"Thou art forgiven," Parsifal's voice went on; "forgiven to continue in thy service of the Grail. But nevermore shalt thou be its Guardian. The words of the oracle have come true.

"'By pity enlightened,
My guileless one,--
Wait thou for him
Till my will is done!'"

Then Parsifal went reverently to the shrine and uncovered it, while all the knights fell on their knees and prayed, and the ransomed Kundry fell prostrate and bathed the altar steps with her happy tears. He drew forth the Holy Grail and held it aloft, and instantly a ray of dazzling light fell from above and struck within the Cup, so that it glowed with glory which flooded all the temple. And down from the lofty dome fluttered a pure white dove which hovered lightly over his head. The knights saw and understood the sign; a new Guardian of the Grail was come to them. The temple had awakened to a higher service through the stainless life of Parsifal.

Let us leave them there, in that holy service before Easter, while the music rose and swelled triumphant, telling of victory over sin and death!

*Lohengrin the Swan Knight*

(_Lohengrin_)

"Hear ye! hear ye! The King has come to Antwerp! Who fights upon the King's side?"

The silvery blast of a trumpet rang out, following the clear tones of a herald's voice; and in answer a great shout arose from a multitude of throats, for all the people in this wide stretching plain were eager to follow the standard of their warlike ruler.

It was in the days not long after Parsifal had come to the Temple of the Grail. The kingdom of Germany, so long a prey to warring states, had found a strong head in Henry the Fowler who protected the land from foes within and without. In times of peace it was his custom to travel from city to city holding court and listening to the grievance of everyone, great or small. In war time, he levied troops and led them in person. His visit to Antwerp, on this occasion, was for both purposes, as the Hungarians had lately declared war against him and were threatening to invade Germany.

Antwerp was capital of the ancient dukedom of Brabant, and one of King Henry's chief cities. On his coming, therefore, he was greatly troubled to find the state rent with quarrels and secret discontent.

The King held his court in the open air, under the spreading branches of a stately tree, called the "Oak of Justice," which stood on the bank of the winding river Scheldt. Here all the people gathered to pay him homage, and here--on the bright spring morning when our story opens--he caused the herald in brilliant livery to stand forth and blow upon a trumpet.

"Hear ye!" cried the herald again. "The King has come! Who fights for the King?"

Then all the people answered as with one voice, and came and knelt before the throne in token of allegiance.

The King's eye gladdened at the sight. "Verily," he said, "with such stout arms and loving hearts as these, we will drive the enemy into the sea!"

After he had greeted many by name, and many others had been presented to him, he saw one noble who had fought with him against the Danes.

"Come hither, Frederick of Telramund," he commanded. "As an oft-tried friend, I have a question to ask of you. How is it that Brabant has no head, but is rent with inner quarrels?"

Frederick of Telramund stepped forward and bowed low. He was a tall man, with beetling brows and deep, piercing eyes.

"I am thankful, my King," he began in a heavy voice and with ill-concealed excitement, "that you have seen our troubles and will lend ear to the story of them. I will tell you the truth. The former Duke of Brabant was my friend, and when he died he chose me as guardian for his children, Godfrey and Elsa. I brought them up as carefully as though they were my own, and looked forward fondly to the time when Godfrey should be duke; also--shall I confess it?--when I might win Elsa for my wife. But all these hopes were destined to fail. Elsa was a proud girl, and I fear now that she coveted the dukedom for herself, though she pretended to have great love for her brother.

"One day they went roaming in the woods and by the river's brink, as they often did. When night came, Elsa returned without her brother. She was pale and trembling, and when we asked her where he had gone, she would only reply by wringing her hands and sobbing. That is all the answer we have got from her, from that day to this, and we cannot help fearing that she drowned him, or laid other violent hands upon him.

"Of course, after this happening, I could no longer choose her hand in marriage. But I chose instead a lady whom I now wish to present to you--Ortrud, daughter of the brave King Radbod. In former times he was king over all this land; and in my wife's name I lay claim to Brabant."

As he finished speaking, Frederick took his wife by the hand and led her forward. She was a very handsome woman, though almost of masculine type, and her eye had a watchful look like that of a crouching tigress. She bent her head with the grace of a queen.

The King knitted his brow at the story, and looked about as though seeking someone else whom he might question. Seeing his doubt, Frederick resolved upon a bold stroke. Turning he addressed the people in a loud voice, saying,

"I accuse Elsa of Brabant of the murder of her brother. If there be any here who can deny my charge, I challenge him to come forth!"

No one moved, although there were mutterings here and there and sullen shakings of the head.

The King rose suddenly and hung his shield upon a limb of the tree.

"This is the Oak of Justice!" he said, "and I promise ye that I will not depart from its shade this day, until I have made trial of this charge.

"This shield no longer shall I wear
Till judgment is pronounced, I swear."

At a signal, the herald came forward again and announced, "Now shall this cause be tried as ancient law demands!" Then he blew a loud blast upon his trumpet and called upon Elsa of Brabant to come before her King for judgment.

The people had received the announcement, that the King would try the cause, with breathless eagerness. Now they parted to right and left and looked intently along the path Elsa was expected to come. They were not disappointed. After a few moments a train of ladies appeared walking slowly, two by two, toward the Oak of Justice. Among them was one dressed in pure white. Her head was uncovered, and her golden hair fell in soft curls about her shoulders. Her blue eyes had a far-away look in them, and her pale face was marked by lines that told of suffering. The lady Ortrud looked balefully at her as she came forward, but the people drew nearer to the maiden with marks of pity that showed their old love for her.

The King himself was struck by this fair vision. The set look came out of his eyes, and he leaned forward and gently took her by the hand.

"Are you Elsa of Brabant?" he asked.

The young girl bowed and wrung her hands in silence.

"You are accused of the murder of your brother," continued the King. "What have you to say?"

"Oh, my poor brother!" cried Elsa; and not another word would she answer to the charge.

"Speak!" said the King. "Do you not know that I must adjudge you guilty unless you confide in me?"

Elsa looked up at the King and seemed to gain courage. The people gazed on the scene with stillness as of death. Elsa's voice was low but clear, and its tones were distinctly heard.

"When I have been in deep trouble," she said, "I have prayed to Heaven for help. It has been many times of late--O, many, many times! At last I was answered. I have had a dream, and it is such a beautiful dream that I know it must come true. A knight in glittering armour appeared in a vision and promised to be my champion whenever I should call upon him. O King, I claim him for my champion to-day! _He_ will prove my innocence!"

Her words answered nothing and proved nothing; yet such was her manner that the people believed in her and shouted aloud that she was guiltless. The King himself seemed to seek a pretext to let her go free; but Frederick of Telramund stepped boldly forward.

"A likely story this, your Majesty!" he sneered. "Dream knights never yet have done anything; and if the Lady Elsa can but find her champion upon earth, here I stand ready to fight him to decide this cause."

The King looked at the maiden anxiously, and her face lit up at once.

"I agree to these terms," she said.

Upon this the King gave orders that lists, or open spaces, should be cleared; and then he announced that, following ancient custom, they would rest the issue of Elsa's guilt or innocence upon single combat between champions. The herald once again came forward and blew a long blast upon his trumpet, and proclaimed,

"Let him stand forth by Heaven's right
Who would for Elsa's just cause fight!"

There was a painful silence, while Frederick and Ortrud looked in smiling disdain upon the poor girl.

"O my King!" she cried. "Summon him again! His home is far away and he may not have heard."

"Sound once again!" commanded the King, and again the trumpet call rang out.

Again there was intense silence. Elsa dropped upon her knees and prayed until it seemed as though her very soul would burst with emotion. Suddenly a man nearest the bank of the river startled the silence with a cry,

"A swan! a swan! And in its wake a boat bearing a knight!"

Every eye turned and gazed up the winding stream, and there, sure enough, was a beautiful white bird swimming easily and gracefully along and drawing a little boat with a knight in it.

"A miracle! a miracle!" shouted the people.

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 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 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.

"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 trust _me_?" 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 was _I_ who caused her to ask those troublesome questions! And it was _I_ who 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.

*Tannhaeuser 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 Tannhaeuser 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 Tannhaeuser. 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 Tannhaeuser 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 Tannhaeuser 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, Tannhaeuser 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 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 Tannhaeuser. "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!"

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, Tannhaeuser 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 Tannhaeuser 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 Tannhaeuser'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 Tannhaeuser, 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?"

Tannhaeuser 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 Tannhaeuser 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 Tannhaeuser'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. Tannhaeuser 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 Tannhaeuser, beholding her emotion, realised how deeply he had been loved and what a pearl he had cast away.

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 Tannhaeuser 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 Tannhaeuser 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 Tannhaeuser 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 Tannhaeuser.