Bacon Mary Schell Hoke
Operas Every Child Should Know
The town clerk tried by every device to stop the shoemaker, – to get him to put aside his cobbling for the night, but Hans answered that he had to work lively if he hoped to get the shoes done for the fête. Beckmesser did not dare tell why he was there, singing at that hour. Walther and Eva remained prisoners under the lime tree, wondering what on earth to do. After a while, poor Beckmesser, making the most frantic efforts to hear his own voice, pleaded with Hans to stop.
"I'll tell thee what to do – it will make the time pass pleasantly for me as well, you see," Hans cried. "Do thou go ahead and sing, and I'll be Marker. For every mistake of thine, I'll hammer the shoe. Of course there will be so few mistakes that there will then be but little pounding." Beckmesser caught at that suggestion. Of course it was imprudent, but then Beckmesser was in a bad way, and it was his only chance. So he began his serenade once more. Then Hans began to "mark" him. Before he had sung a line, Hans's hammer was banging away in the most remarkable manner. Even Walther and Eva had to laugh, frightened as they were. Beckmesser became so furious he could hardly speak. Sachs pretended to see nothing, and "marked" away valiantly. Then the Night Watch could be heard coming. Hans banged louder. Beckmesser put his fingers in his ears, that he might drown the sound of Hans and the Warder, and keep on the key. Hans too began to sing as he waxed his threads and banged upon his shoes. Meantime windows were going up, the people who had gone to bed having wakened.
"Stop your bawling there," one shouted.
"Leave off howling," another screamed.
"What's the matter? Have you gone crazy down there," others yelled, but Beckmesser still shrieked, unable to hear anybody but himself and Hans.
"Listen to that donkey bray," a neighbour called.
"Hear the wild-cat," another bawled; and in the midst of the singing Magdalene stuck her head out of the window. Beckmesser, thinking it was Eva, was encouraged to keep on, but David, who had come out at the rumpus, believed that Beckmesser was serenading Magdalene, and instantly became jealous. So out he rushed with a cudgel. The neighbours then began to come from their houses in their night-gowns and caps; some wearing red flannel about their heads and some in very short gowns, and all looking very funny. Meanwhile, Hans, who had got the row started, withdrew into his house and shut the door. Walther and Eva were still trembling under the lime tree, sure of being discovered, now that all Nuremberg was aroused and on the spot.
Beckmesser was surrounded by the neighbours, the apprentices came from every shop to swell the crowd, also the journeymen, while all the women bawled from the house windows where they were hanging out half way. David and Beckmesser were wrestling all over the place, Beckmesser's lute being smashed and his clothes torn off him. At last the Mastersingers themselves arrived.
Walther, at last deciding that the time had come when he must rescue Eva, drew his sword and rushed forth. Hans, who had been watching behind his door, then ran out, pushed his way through the mob and caught Walther by the arm. At that moment – Poof! Bist! the women in the windows threw down buckets of water over all the people, and Beckmesser was half drowned in the streams. This added to the confusion, so that Hans grasped Walther, and Pogner his daughter; Sachs and Walther retired into Sachs's house and Eva was dragged within her own. As Sachs disappeared, he gave David a kick which sent him flying, to pay him for his part in the fight.
Beckmesser, battered half to pieces, limped off, while the crowd, dripping wet and with ardour cooled, slunk out. When all was perfectly quiet and safe, and not a sound stirring, on came the Night Warder. It was comical to see the way he looked all about the deserted place, as if he had been taking a little nap, while all Nuremberg had been fighting like wild-cats, and he quavered out in a shaky voice:
Hear, all folks, the Warder's ditty,
Eleven strikes in our city,
Defend yourselves from spectre and sprite,
That no evil imp your soul affright.
He finished with a long-drawn cry:
Praise ye God, the Lord,
and all was still.
ACT III
The morning of the song festival dawned clear and fine. Early in the morning, Hans Sachs seated himself in his shop, beside his sunny window, his work on the bench before him, but he let it go unheeded as he fell to reading. David found his master thus employed when he stole into the shop, after peeping to make sure that Hans would pay no attention to him. David was not at all sure of the reception his master would give him after the riot in which he had taken a hand the night before. As Hans did not look up, David set the basket he carried upon the table, and began to take out the things in it. First there were flowers and bright-coloured ribbons, and at the very bottom a cake and a sausage. He was just beginning to eat the sausage when Hans Sachs turned a page of his book noisily. David, knowing his guilty part in the fight, looked warily at his master.
"Master, I have taken the shoes to Beckmesser and – " Sachs looked at him abstractedly.
"Do not disturb our guest, Sir Walther," he said, seeming to forget David's misbehaviour. "Eat thy cakes and be happy – only do not wake our guest."
Soon David went out while Sachs still sat thinking of the situation and half decided to take a part in the contest himself – since it were a shame to have Beckmesser win Eva. While he was thus lost in contemplation, Walther woke and came from his room.
"Ah, dear Hans – I have had a glorious dream," he cried. "It is so splendid that I hardly dare think of it."
"Can it be thou hast dreamed a song?" Sachs asked breathlessly.
"Even if I had, what help would it bring me, friend Sachs, since the Mastersingers will not treat me fairly?"
"Stay, stay, Walther, not so fast! I want to say of yesterday's experience: the Mastersingers are, after all, men of honour. They were hard on thee yesterday, but thou hast troubled them much. Thy song was as strange, its kind as new to them as it was beautiful, and they have thought of it again and again since then. If they can make themselves familiar with such beauty they will not fail to give thee credit. I own I am much troubled and know not what to do for you."
"I wonder could it be possible that I have had an inspiration in my sleep that might lead me to win my dear Eva?" the knight said, taking heart.
"That we shall soon know. Sir Walther, stand thou there, and sing thy song, and I will sit here and write it down. So it shall not escape thee. Come, begin, Sir Knight," Sachs cried, becoming hopeful for the young man. Trembling with anxiety Walther took his stand and began his song, while Hans placed himself at the table to write it down.
[Listen]
Bathed in the sunlight at dawn of the day,
when blossoms rare
made sweet the air,
with beauties teeming,
past all dreaming,
a glorious garden lay, cheering my way.
As the knight sang he became more and more inspired and when he had finished Hans Sachs was wild with delight.
"It is true! – you have had a wonderful inspiration. Go now to your room, and there you will find clothing gay enough for this great occasion. No matter how it came there! – it is there! I have all along believed in you, and that you would sing, and I have provided for it." The knight went rejoicing to put on his new clothes.
Now Hans, when he went with Walther to his bedroom, had left the manuscript of the great song upon the table, and no sooner had he gone out than Beckmesser, looking through the window and finding the place empty, slipped in. He was limping from the effects of the fight and altogether cut a most ridiculous figure. He was very richly dressed, but that did not conceal his battered appearance. Every step he took he rubbed first his back and then his shins. He should have been in bed and covered with liniments. Suddenly he espied the song upon Hans's table. He believed that after all Hans was going to sing, and if he should, all would be up with himself. Wild with rage, Beckmesser picked up the song and stuffed it into his pocket. No sooner had he done so than the bedroom door opened, and Hans Sachs came out in gala dress, ready for the festival; seeing Beckmesser, he paused in surprise.
"What, you? Sir Marker? Surely those shoes of yours do not give you trouble so soon?"
"Trouble! The devil! Such shoes never were. They are so thin, I can feel the smallest cobblestone through them. No matter about the shoes, however – though I came to complain to you about them – for I have found another and far worse cause of complaint. I thought you were not to sing."
"Neither am I."
"What, you deny it – when I have just found you out!" Beckmesser cried in a foaming rage. Hans looked at the table and saw that the manuscript was gone. He grinned.
"So, you took the song, did you?" he asked.
"The ink was still wet."
"True, I'll be bound!"
"So then I've caught you deceiving!"
"Well, at least you never caught me stealing, and to save you from the charge I'll just give you that song," Hans replied, still smiling. Beckmesser stared at him.
"I'll warrant you have the song by heart," he said, narrowly eyeing the shoemaker.
"No, that I haven't. And further than that, I'll promise you not to lay any claim to it that shall thwart your use of it – if you really want it." Hans spoke carelessly, watching the greedy town clerk from the tail of his eye.
"You mean truly, that I may use that song as I like?"
"Sing it if you like – and know how," Sachs said obligingly.
"A song by Hans Sachs!" he exclaimed, unable to hide his joy – because no one in Nuremberg could possibly write a song like Sachs. "Well, well, this is very decent of you, Sachs! I can understand how anxious you are to make friends with me, after your bad treatment last night." Beckmesser spoke patronizingly, while his heart was fairly bursting with new hope. Any song by Hans Sachs would certainly win him the prize, even if he could but half sing it.
"If I am to oblige you by using this song," he hesitated, "then swear to me you will not undo me by laying claim to it." After all, he was feeling considerable anxiety about it. That he should be saved in this manner was quite miraculous.
"I'll give my oath never to claim it so long as I live," Sachs answered earnestly, thinking all the while what a rascal Beckmesser was. "But, friend Beckmesser, one word; I am no scoffer, but truly, knowing the song as I do, I have my doubts about your being able to learn it in an hour or so. The song is not easy."
"Have no fear, Hans Sachs. As a poet, your place is first, I know; but believe me, friend, when it comes to 'tone' and 'mode,' and the power to sing, I confess I have no fear – nor an equal," the conceited ass declared. "I tell you, confidentially, I have now no fear of that presumptuous fellow, Walther. With this song and my great genius, we shall no longer fear his bobbing upon the scene and doing harm." Assured of success at last, away went Beckmesser, limping and stumbling, to learn his song.
"Well, never did I see so malicious a fellow," Hans declared, as Beckmesser stumbled out of sight. "And there comes Evchen – hello, my Evchen, thou art dressed very fine. Well, well, it is to be thy wedding day, to be sure."
"Yes – but the shoe pinches," she said putting her little foot upon the bench.
"That will never do. That must be fixed," Hans answered gravely, his eyes twinkling. He fell to examining the shoes. "Why, my child, what is wrong with it? I find it a very fine fit?"
"Nay, it is too broad."
"Tut, tut, that is thy vanity. The shoe fits close, my dear."
"Well, then I think it is the toes that hurt – or maybe the heel, or maybe – " she looked all about, hoping to see Walther. At that moment he entered, and Eva cried out. Then Hans said:
"Ah, ah! Ho, ho! That is where the shoe pinches, eh? Well, be patient, that fault I shall mend very soon," he declared, thinking of the song that Beckmesser had stolen, while he took off the shoe and sat once more at his bench. Then he said slyly:
"Lately I heard a beauteous song. I would I might hear its third verse once more." Immediately, Walther, looking at Eva, began softly to sing the famous song. As it magically swelled, Sachs came to her and again fitted the shoes. When the song was rapturously finished, Eva burst into hysterical sobbing, and threw herself into the shoemaker's arms. But this scene was interrupted by the coming of Lena and David, all dressed for the fête.
"Come, just in time!" Sachs cried. "Now listen to what I have to say, children. In this room, a song has just been made by this knight, who duly sang it before me and before Eva. Now, do not forget this, I charge you; so let us be off to hear him christened a Mastersinger."
All then went out into the street except David, who lingered a moment to fasten up the house. All the way to the meadow where the fête was to be held were sounding trumpets and horns, glad shouts and laughter. Very soon the little group from Sachs's reached the fête, and there they found a gala sight.
Many guilds had arrived and were constantly arriving. Colours were planted upon the raised benches which each guild occupied by itself. A little stream ran through the meadow, and upon its waters boats were continually being rowed, full of laughing men and women, girls and boys. As each new guild disembarked, it planted its colours. Refreshment stands were all about, and apprentices and journeymen were having great sport.
The apprentices and girls began a fine dance, while the people kept landing at the dock and coming from their boats.
There came the bakers, the tailors, and the smiths; then the informal gaiety came to a sudden pause and the cry went up that the great Mastersingers themselves had arrived. They disembarked and formed a long procession, Kothner going ahead bearing the banner, which had the portrait of King David and his harp upon it.
At sight of the banner all waved their hats, while the Masters proceeded to their platform.
When they had reached their place, Pogner led Eva forward, and at the same moment Hans Sachs arrived and again all waved and cheered loudly. Eva took the place of honour, and behind them all was – Beckmesser, wildly struggling to learn his great song. He kept taking the manuscript from his pocket and putting it back, sweating and mumbling, standing first on one of his sore feet and then upon the other, a ridiculous figure, indeed.
At length, Sachs stood up and spoke to those who had welcomed him so graciously.
"Friends, since I am beloved of thee, I have one favour to ask. The prize this day is to be a unique one, and I ask that the contest be open. It is no more than fair, since so much is to be won. I ask that no one who shall ask for a chance to sing for this fair prize be denied. Shall this be so?"
While he waited for an answer, every one was in commotion.
"Say, Marker," he asked of Beckmesser, "is this not as it should be?"
That rascal was wiping his face from which the sweat was streaming and trying in despair to conquer the knight's song.
"You know you need not sing that song unless you wish," Hans reminded him, aside.
"My own is abandoned, and now it is too late for me to make another," Beckmesser moaned; "but with you out of the contest – well, I shall surely win with anything. You must not desert me now."
"Well, let it be agreed," Hans cried aloud, "that the contest shall be open to all; so now begin."
"The oldest first," Kothner cried, thus calling attention to the age of Beckmesser. "Begin, Beckmesser," another shouted.
"Oh, the devil," Beckmesser moaned, trying to peep again at the song which he had not been able to learn. He desperately ascended the mound which was reserved for the singers, escorted by an apprentice. He stumbled and nearly fell, so excited was he, and so frightened at his plight, for he did not know the song, and he had none of his own. Altogether he was in a bad way – but he was yet to be in a worse!
"Come and make this mound more firm," he snarled, nearly falling down. At that everybody laughed. Finally he placed himself, and all waited for him to begin. This is how he sang the words of the first stanza:
Bathing in sunlight at dawning of the day,
With bosom bare,
To greet the air;
My beauty steaming,
Faster dreaming,
A garden roundelay wearied my way.
Only compare this with the words of the song as Walther sang them! The music matched the words for absurdity.
"Good gracious! He's lost his senses," one Mastersinger said to another. Beckmesser, realizing that he was not getting the song right, became more and more confused. He felt the amazement of the people, and that made him desperate. At last, half crazed with rage and shame, he pulled the song from his pocket and peeped at it. Then he tried again, but turned giddy, and at last tottered down from the mound, while people began to jeer at him. Hans Sachs might have been sorry for the wretch, had he not known how dishonest he had been, willing to use another's song that he might gain the prize.
Beckmesser rushed furiously toward Sachs and shook his fist at him:
"Oh, ye accursed cobbler! Ye have ruined me," he screamed, and rushing madly away he lost himself in the crowd. In his rage, he had screamed that the song was Sachs's, but nobody would believe him, because, as Beckmesser had sung it, it had sounded so absurd.
Sachs took the manuscript quietly up, after Beckmesser had thrown it down.
"The song is not mine," he declared. "But I vow it is a most lovely song, and that it has been sung wrong. I have been accused of making this, and now I deny it. I beg of the one who wrote it to come forth now and sing it as it should be sung. It is the song of a great master, believe me, friends and Mastersingers. Poet, come forth, I pray you," he called, and then Walther stepped to the mound, modestly. Every one beheld him with pleasure. He was indeed a fine and gallant-looking fellow.
"Now, Masters, hold the song; and since I swear that I did not write it, but know the one who did – let my words be proved. Stand, Sir Knight, and prove my truth." Then Kothner took the manuscript that the Mastersingers might follow the singing and know if the knight was honest; and Walther, standing in the singers' place, began the song a little fearfully.
The Masters following him recognized the truth of all that Hans Sachs had spoken, and presently dropped the paper in amazement. They became lost in listening to the music, which swelled higher and higher, growing more and more beautiful with every measure, till all the people of Nuremberg sat spellbound. At last:
"His prize, his prize!" they shouted; and Pogner came to him weeping with joy.
"It is thy doing," Walther said tremblingly to Hans; and then he was conducted to where Eva awaited him. He stooped and she placed the victor's wreath upon his head. But that was not the end. The Mastersingers turned to Pogner:
"Herr Pogner, it is thy right to crown the knight who has won this prize," and with that Pogner hung a golden chain about Walther's neck, from which was suspended three medals. Walther would have refused it.
"I have a dearer prize than this, my friends," he cried, looking at Eva.
"Nay, take thy chain, too," Sachs urged him, smiling. "That shall be the sign of the Mastersingers' approval." Walther bowed his head and received the chain, while the people stood up and shouted.
Thus in one day, the knight, Walther von Stolzing, became a bridegroom and a Mastersinger.
LOHENGRIN
CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA
Lohengrin, Knight of the Holy Grail.
Henry I, King of Germany.
Frederick of Telramund, a noble of Brabant.
The Royal Herald.
Gottfried, Elsa's brother, and mute.
Four nobles of Brabant.
Elsa von Brabant.
Ortrud, wife of Telramund.
Four pages.
Saxons, nobles of Brabant, ladies, and pages.
The story is laid in Antwerp, during the first half of the tenth century.
First production at Weimar, Germany, August 28, 1850.
Composer: Richard Wagner.
ACT I
On a meadow on the banks on the river Scheldt, King Henry and his Saxon nobles were one day assembled in their hall of justice, which in those times was beneath a broad-spreading oak. From another petty German political division had come Frederick of Telramund, with his wife Ortrud. In turn they were surrounded by their own retainers from their province, but all were assembled at King Henry's call to rally in defence of the Kingdom.
When all were awaiting Henry's will, his Herald stepped forth and blew a blast upon his trumpet.
"Hark! Princes, Nobles, Freemen of Brabant! Our sovereign has called ye all to rally to his defence. May he count upon the loyalty of all?"
At once, the nobles took up the cry, and welcomed their sovereign to the country. Then King Henry thanked them for their good will and made the following announcement:
"Nobles, Freemen, all! I come not only to receive this welcome, but to tell ye that Germany is in danger of invasion from the Hungarian hordes; and that upon our frontiers there are German wives and children praying for our protecting arms. As the nation's guardian it is fitting that I make an end of this misrule which has left us threatened again and again by this lawless people. As ye will recall, I made a nine years' truce with our enemies, when they last tormented us; and now the time is past, they demand a tribute which, for the sake of our people, I have refused them. It is time for us to up and arm against them, and once for all defeat them."
Henry spoke earnestly, with evident devotion to his subjects, and both Saxons and Brabantians responded, but the men of Brabant looked to their immediate Lord, Frederick of Telramund, for assent. He hesitated a moment, and then stepped before the King.
"Great King," he said, "thou art here to judge, to listen to the differences of thy people, to make wrong right, so far as in thee lies, and on my part I will not stoop to falsehood. I have a grievance. Thou knowest when death took away our beloved Duke, his children, Elsa and Gottfried, were left in my charge. I became their guardian. I treasured them and guarded their interests valiantly; but one day, the two wandered forth into the forest. In time Elsa, the elder, returned, trembling and seemingly full of fear. She was alone, and when questioned about the safety of her young brother could tell us nothing. We sought for him, but never found him. She pretended to be in great distress, but her manner betrayed her guilt; of that I am certain. There were but they two, alone, and yet she could give us no intelligent story of his disappearance. A horror of the young girl fell upon me. I could not bear her in my sight, because I felt she was responsible for her young brother's death. Her hand had been offered me in marriage by her father, but feeling that she was guilty, I gave her up. I could not have married one who, in my mind, was so wicked. Therefore I have chosen another wife, Ortrud of Radbod." As he spoke, he brought his wife before the King and she made an obeisance.
"Now, my sovereign, I here charge the Lady Elsa with the crime, and ask thee to punish her as may be fitting. I also claim that as a fratricide she has forfeited her claim to all her lands; and as her nearest kinsman, I claim them." There ensued a painful silence, because the Lady Elsa of Brabant was a beautiful and gentle creature, and it was difficult for any one to believe such a monstrous story of her. Then arose a great outcry against the statement.
"Telramund, what hast thou said? This is a dreadful accusation."
"A fearful thing, indeed, Frederick," the good King protested.
"But if thou wilt consider, great King, there is cause for my belief. The maid, believing herself sole sovereign of Brabant, now that the boy was dead, became dreamy and strange, thinking upon some other with whom she might wish to share both her fortune and her power. Me she disdained, after her younger brother was gone."
The just King became very thoughtful for a time, then he said sadly:
"Summon the accused maid, and all of ye prepare to utter a just judgment. Heaven help me to judge her rightly!"
The Herald again sounded his trumpet.
"Dost thou determine to hold thy court of judgment here, O King?"
"Aye! I will not rest beneath my shield until the truth is sifted." Then all the Saxon nobles, who had instantly bared their swords, struck them against the earth, but those of Brabant laid theirs flat upon the ground.
Scene II
"Appear, ye royal maid, appear!" the Herald cried, and slowly from behind the crowd of nobles the beautiful Elsa appeared. She left the ladies of her court behind her, and stood forth quite alone.
"Behold!" all cried. "See how her face is clouded with sorrow!" She appeared so beautiful and innocent that no one could believe in her guilt.
The King asked her if she were willing to recognize him as her sovereign and to abide by his judgment, and she bowed her head.
"Dost thou know the crime with which thou art charged?" he asked. Elsa looked toward Ortrud and Telramund, and bowed her head. "Canst thou deny the accusation?" he demanded in a kind voice. She shook her head, sadly, for she was without defence.
"Then dost thou confess thy guilt?" he persisted, but her only answer was:
"Oh, my poor brother!" All those present looked sorrowfully at her. The King was much touched by her hopeless bearing.
"Come, Lady, confide freely in thy sovereign."
Then she stood alone and told what she knew had happened, as if she were speaking in a dream.
[Listen]
Oft when hours were lonely, I unto Heav'n have prayed,
One boon I asked for, only, to send the orphans aid;
I prayed in tears and sorrow, with heavy heart and sore,
Hoping a brighter morrow yet was for us in store.
Afar my words were wafted, I dreamt not help was nigh,
But one on high vouchsafed it, while I in sleep did lie.
I saw in splendour shining, a knight of glorious mien,
On me his eyes inclining with tranquil gaze serene.
A horn of gold beside him, he leant upon his sword,
Thus when I erst espied him 'mid clouds of light he soar'd;
His words so low and tender brought life renewed to me.
My guardian, my defender, thou shalt my champion be!
Thus she sang, while all present looked at her in amazement.
"She dreams!" they cried.
"Frederick of Telramund," the King cried, "it is hard to believe wrong of this maiden. Think, while yet there is time, of what ye say! Do not let any hate in thy heart make thee wrong a defenceless girl," he cautioned, while all the nobles protested that it seemed impossible she could have done so foul a thing as that of which she was accused.
"Her dreamy mood may deceive thee," Frederick said, "but it has never deceived me. Do ye not hear that she raves about a lover? I declare that I have spoken truly, and who will dare give me the lie?" Whereupon all the nobles of Brabant came forward to uphold their Lord.
"We stand by thee, Frederick of Brabant," they cried.
"I have always known thee to be honourable," the King replied, turning his eyes sadly upon Elsa, who still stood gazing ahead of her, as if half dreaming, or maybe seeing the vision she had described.
"Elsa of Brabant, I have no choice but to let Heaven decide for thee. I have no proof of thy guilt or innocence. This knight Frederick is known to me as an honourable man, and I cannot slight his word, so Heaven alone can help thee." The King drew his sword and struck it against the ground.
"Answer me, Frederick, wilt thou do battle here with whoever may appear to defend this Lady?"
"I will, right valiantly," he answered, his wife urging him on to all that he said.
"And thou, Elsa, wilt thou name thy champion, and leave thy honour in his hands?"
"Aye," she answered, simply.
"Then name the man," the King demanded.
"Now we shall hear the name of her lover," Frederick said hastily. "It will surely be he who was her accomplice."
"To whomsoever will defend me I will give all my lands and love," she answered firmly, waiting for some knight to stand out from the others, and declare for her cause and defence.
Each looked at the other, but no one spoke or moved. Then the King cried:
"Sound the trumpet! Call the warrior knight by thy bugle!" The Herald advanced with four trumpeters, whom he turned toward north, south, east, and west, and had them sound their trumps.
"Who will here do battle for Elsa of Brabant," he shouted. No one answered and the lonely, defenceless Elsa looked about pitifully, in great anxiety.
"Ah, ye see how poor a cause she hath!" Frederick called, pointing to her.
"Dear sovereign, once again I beg the right to call for a defender. My knight dwells afar off, and cannot arrive at once."
"Again sound thy trumpets," the King directed the Herald, and again they called to the four points of the compass. Still all was silent. Then Elsa sank upon her knees, while the ladies of her court came forward to crowd protectingly about her because they loved her very much. She prayed earnestly that some defender might come to her, and so affected were all present, except Frederick and his wife, that all joined in her prayer.
Then a strange thing happened; those standing nearest the water's edge saw a boat coming up the river, drawn by a lovely swan. In the boat stood a handsome knight, so beautiful and kind of face, and so glittering with silver armour, that they fairly held their breath in admiration.
"See!" they cried. "Some one – a marvellous man appears upon the river." All the others, excepting Elsa, who remained upon her knees, went back to the river's edge to look.
"Oh, he is a brave knight – he stands in the prow – his armour gleams like the sun – a swan draws him. He wears a helmet of light upon his brow. He is nearing the shore! – He has golden reins upon his swan." All but the King, Telramund, Ortrud, and Elsa were crowding about the river's bank, to see the glorious sight.
Frederick and Ortrud were frightened, and cast strange looks of fear at each other; the King rose from his seat to see; but Elsa, overcome with joy, remained where she was, not even looking around.