If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
'I love her for her smile—her look—her way
Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'—
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,—
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Ode to a Nightingale - John Keats

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness, -
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain -
To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music: - Do I wake or sleep?

Angels

Orchard Pit - Dante Gabriel Rossetti

The Orchard-Pit
Piled deep below the screening apple-branch
They lie with bitter apples in their hands:
And some are only ancient bones that blanch,
And some had ships that last year's wind did launch,
And some were yesterday the lords of lands.

In the soft dell, among the apple-trees,
High up above the hidden pit she stands,
And there for ever sings, who gave to these,
That lie below, her magic hour of ease,
And those her apples holden in their hands.

This in my dreams is shown me; and her hair
Crosses my lips and draws my burning breath;
Her song spreads golden wings upon the air,
Life's eyes are gleaming from her forehead fair,
And from her breasts the ravishing eyes of Death.

Men say to me that sleep hath many dreams,
Yet I knew never but this dream alone:
There, from a dried-up channel, once the stream's,
The glen slopes up; even such in sleep it seems
As to my waking sight the place well known.

My love I call her, and she loves me well:
But I love her as in the maelstrom's cup
The whirled stone loves the leaf inseparable
That clings to it round all the circling swell,
And that the same last eddy swallows up.

The little Match Girl

It was terribly cold and nearly dark on the last evening of the old year, and the snow was falling fast. In the cold and the darkness, a poor little girl, with bare head and naked feet, roamed through the streets. It is true she had on a pair of slippers when she left home, but they were not of much use. They were very large, so large, indeed, that they had belonged to her mother, and the poor little creature had lost them in running across the street to avoid two carriages that were rolling along at a terrible rate. One of the slippers she could not find, and a boy seized upon the other and ran away with it, saying that he could use it as a cradle, when he had children of his own. So the little girl went on with her little naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an old apron she carried a number of matches, and had a bundle of them in her hands. No one had bought anything of her the whole day, nor had anyone given her even a penny. Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along; poor little child, she looked the picture of misery. The snowflakes fell on her long, fair hair, which hung in curls on her shoulders, but she regarded them not. Lights were shining from every window, and there was a savoury smell of roast goose, for it was New-year's eve—yes, she remembered that. In a corner, between two houses, one of which projected beyond the other, she sank down and huddled herself together. She had drawn her little feet under her, but she could not keep off the cold; and she dared not go home, for she had sold no matches, and could not take home even a penny of money. Her father would certainly beat her; besides, it was almost as cold at home as here, for they had only the roof to cover them, through which the wind howled, although the largest holes had been stopped up with straw and rags. Her little hands were almost frozen with the cold. Ah! perhaps a burning match might be some good, if she could draw it from the bundle and strike it against the wall, just to warm her fingers. She drew one out—“scratch!” how it sputtered as it burnt! It gave a warm, bright light, like a little candle, as she held her hand over it. It was really a wonderful light. It seemed to the little girl that she was sitting by a large iron stove, with polished brass feet and a brass ornament. How the fire burned! and seemed so beautifully warm that the child stretched out her feet as if to warm them, when, lo! the flame of the match went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the half-burnt match in her hand. She rubbed another match on the wall. It burst into a flame, and where its light fell upon the wall it became as transparent as a veil, and she could see into the room. The table was covered with a snowy white table-cloth, on which stood a splendid dinner service, and a steaming roast goose, stuffed with apples and dried plums. And what was still more wonderful, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled across the floor, with a knife and fork in its breast, to the little girl. Then the match went out, and there remained nothing but the thick, damp, cold wall before her. She lighted another match, and then she found herself sitting under a beautiful Christmas-tree. It was larger and more beautifully decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchant's. Thousands of tapers were burning upon the green branches, and coloured pictures, like those she had seen in the show-windows, looked down upon it all. The little one stretched out her hand towards them, and the match went out. The Christmas lights rose higher and higher, till they looked to her like the stars in the sky. Then she saw a star fall, leaving behind it a bright streak of fire. “Someone is dying,” thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star falls, a soul was going up to God. She again rubbed a match on the wall, and the light shone round her; in the brightness stood her old grandmother, clear and shining, yet mild and loving in her appearance. “Grandmother,” cried the little one, “O take me with you; I know you will go away when the match burns out; you will vanish like the warm stove, the roast goose, and the large, glorious Christmas-tree.” And she made haste to light the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother there. And the matches glowed with a light that was brighter than the noon-day, and her grandmother had never appeared so large or so beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and they both flew upwards in brightness and joy far above the earth, where there was neither cold nor hunger nor pain, for they were with God. In the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with pale cheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against the wall; she had been frozen to death on the last evening of the year; and the New-year's sun rose and shone upon a little corpse! The child still sat, in the stiffness of death, holding the matches in her hand, one bundle of which was burnt. “She tried to warm herself,” said some. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into what glory she had entered with her grandmother, on New-year's day.

THE SADNESS OF THE MOON by Charles Baudelaire

THE Moon more indolently dreams to-night
Than a fair woman on her couch at rest,
Caressing, with a hand distraught and light,
Before she sleeps, the contour of her breast.

Upon her silken avalanche of down,
Dying she breathes a long and swooning sigh;
And watches the white visions past her flown,
Which rise like blossoms to the azure sky.

And when, at times, wrapped in her languor deep,
Earthward she lets a furtive tear-drop flow,
Some pious poet, enemy of sleep,

Takes in his hollow hand the tear of snow
Whence gleams of iris and of opal start,
And hides it from the Sun, deep in his heart.

The Swan Knight (on which Wagner's opera about Elsa and Lohengrin was based)

“My loyal subjects of Brabant, I thank you for your welcome. Once more the barbarians from the east threaten our German Empire. Once more we must defend our land. And so I summon you to join our army.”

On a riverbank outside the walled city of Antwerp, King Henry stood beneath the great oak known as the Tree of Justice. Beside him were the Saxon nobles of his escort, while before him were nobles and other men he had come to enlist from Brabant.

The king sat down in the heavy wooden chair beneath the oak. “But I am distressed to hear of the discord among you. Count Frederick of Telramund, I know you to be a man of the highest honor. Tell me the source of the trouble.”

Frederick stepped forward. “Thank you, King Henry, for hearing this case. Before the Duke of Brabant passed away, he placed in my care his two children, Elsa and Godfrey. One day they went into the woods together, but only Elsa returned. She claimed they had become lost from one another.

“Our searches failed to find the boy, and I suspected wrongdoing. When I pressed Elsa for the truth, she grew pale and trembled, clearly showing her guilt. Then and there, I gave up all thought of marrying her as offered by her father. I instead married Ortrude, princess of Friesland, whom you see here.

“Now I accuse Elsa of a great crime: the murder of her brother. I also claim right to rule Brabant, as next in line after her. King Henry, pass judgment!”

“A fearful charge!” said the king. He hung his shield solemnly on the oak. “Here shall my shield remain until justice is served. Let all your swords be unsheathed until judgment is passed.”

The men of Brabant laid their swords on the ground, while the men of Saxony stood theirs upright by thrusting them into the earth.

The king’s herald called, “Elsa of Brabant, come forth!”

Slowly forward stepped Elsa, dressed all in white, her ladies-in-waiting trailing behind. The men murmured to each other how lovely and innocent she looked—how unlike anyone who could commit such a crime! At last she stood silent before the king, seeming hardly to notice where she was.

“Elsa of Brabant, what do you say to the charges against you?”

She gazed sadly into the distance. “My poor brother.”

Murmurs arose again at this strange behavior. “Speak, Elsa,” urged the king. “What have you to tell us?”

Still gazing ahead, Elsa said, “In my loneliness and despair, I raised a prayer to God that filled the heavens. Then in a dream I saw approach a glorious knight, clad in shining armor, leaning on a sword, with a golden horn at his side. This knight it is who will be my champion and prove my innocence.”

“Frederick,” said the king, “are you certain you wish to accuse this girl?”

“Her dreaminess can’t fool me,” said Frederick. “I have a witness to her crime. But my word alone should be enough, and I’m ready to defend it with my sword.”

“Then God alone must decide,” said the king, “in trial by combat. To the just he will give the victory. Elsa, who will fight for you?”

“The knight from my dream,” said Elsa. “As his reward, he shall take all my father’s lands—and myself as wife, if he’ll have me.”

At the king’s command, the herald called, “Let him who will fight for Elsa of Brabant come forth!” But no one stepped forward.

Elsa told the king, “He must yet be far away and not have heard. Please call again.”

The king assented, and the herald called again. “Let him who will fight for Elsa of Brabant come forth!” But still there was no response.

Elsa knelt in prayer. “Lord, tell my knight I need him now! Show him to me, just as he appeared before.”

Then shouts went up from men by the river’s edge.

“Look!”

“A swan!”

“It’s pulling a knight in a boat!”

Coming to shore was a knight in gleaming silver armor, leaning on a sword, with a golden horn hanging at his side. He stood in a small boat, pulled with a golden chain by a white swan. The boat reached the bank, and the knight stepped out.

“Farewell, dear swan. Return now over the waters, and bring joy when you come again.”

He gazed after the swan as it started upriver, then he turned to the king. “Greetings, King Henry!”

“Stranger,” said the king, “am I right to believe you are sent by God?”

“I am sent to stand up for one who is accused. Elsa of Brabant, do you accept me as your champion?”

“You are my knight and my savior!” she said joyfully.

“And if I succeed, will you take me as husband as well?”

“All that I have and all that I am is yours.”

“Elsa,” said the knight solemnly, “if I’m to stay here with you always, you must promise one thing: Never shall you ask from where I’ve come, or my lineage, or my name.”

“Never shall I ask, my lord.”

“Elsa, do you understand fully what I say? Never shall you ask from where I’ve come, or my lineage, or my name!”

“As surely as you protect me now, I will honor your command.”

“Elsa, I love you,” said the knight, embracing her. He led her to the king, then stepped out among the gathered men.

“I declare Elsa of Brabant free of guilt. God will show the falseness of this charge.”

Friends of Frederick whispered to him urgently, begging him to give up the fight. But Frederick declared, “Better dead than a coward. Stranger, your threats don’t frighten me, for I have spoken only truth. Let God be the judge.”

“King Henry,” said the knight, “order the fight to begin!”

At the king’s command, six nobles stood in a wide circle and thrust their spears into the ground. The herald declared, “Let no one enter this ring and disturb the battle. You who fight, honor the ordeal. Seek not to win by deceit or by magic. Place your faith in God’s strength before your own.”

The king rose and prayed, “Lord God, all our wisdom is but folly. Show us who is innocent here, and who is guilty. Grant victory to the just, and defeat to the wicked.”

The king’s trumpeters sounded the call to battle. King Henry struck his shield once with his sword, and the two combatants entered the ring. At the second stroke, they raised their shields and drew their swords. At the third stroke, they attacked.

Within moments, the knight had knocked Frederick to the ground and placed the point of his sword at Frederick’s throat.

“I grant you your life,” said the knight. “Now go and repent what you have done.”

The men rejoiced at the wondrous victory, and Elsa threw herself into the knight’s arms. The shield was removed from the tree, the spears were pulled from the ground, and all swords were returned to their scabbards.

Then the knight and Elsa were lifted up on shields and carried off, while Frederick and Ortrude were left behind in disgrace.

---

2

Much later, in the dark courtyard of Antwerp Castle, light and merry music poured from the banquet hall windows in the men’s quarters. On the chapel steps, Frederick and Ortrude sat brooding in clothes that matched the night.

“What spell is it that binds me to you still?” said Frederick, rising up. “Through you I’ve lost all honor. Through you I’ve become an outcast!”

“Husband, why do you no longer trust me?”

“Why?” said Frederick. “Did you not swear to me you saw Elsa drown her brother in the lake? Did you not lure me into marriage with prophecies that your family would once more rule Brabant? And did God not punish me for listening to your lies?”

“I told no lie,” said Ortrude. “Not by God were you defeated, but by the sorcery of this knight! Husband, come sit by me.”

Frederick stared at her fearfully. “Do you seek to bewitch me again?”

“What if I told you,” said Ortrude, “that all his power would be lost if only he were made to give his name?”

Frederick moved closer. “That would explain his command to Elsa!”

“It is only Elsa who can make him reveal it,” said Ortrude. “So first we must make her suspicious of him, then charge the knight with using sorcery to win the trial. If that doesn’t work, there’s another way: A man made strong by magic will lose that strength if the least part of his body is cut away—even the tip of a finger. If you manage that, he’ll be completely in your power.”

“Can this be true?” said Frederick. “And to think I believed my defeat came from God! But, woman, if you’re lying now, Heaven help you.”

“Calm yourself, dear husband, and learn from me the sweet delight of vengeance. But look! There is Elsa on the balcony! Go quickly now and leave her to me, while you deal with the knight.”

On the balcony of the women’s quarters stood Elsa, enjoying the cool night breezes and dreaming happily of her champion. The courtyard lay dark and still, the revelers having retired. From below, she heard a mournful voice.

“Elsa.”

“Who is that?” she called back in surprise.

“Do you not even recognize the one you have condemned to misery?”

“Ortrude, is that you? But what are you saying? Can you think that I caused your misfortune?”

“My husband must have been mad to accuse you,” said Ortrude. “Now he is filled with remorse. But what should that matter to you? Your life is filled with happiness, while ours can bring only grief.”

“Don’t say so, Ortrude! I would betray the goodness shown me by God if I did not share it with you. Stay there, and I will let you in.”

Elsa hurried inside. In the courtyard, Ortrude cried out to the darkness. “Gods of old, bless my deceit! Gods of power, make good my revenge!”

The women’s door opened, and Ortrude threw herself at Elsa’s feet.

“Ortrude, must I see you so humbled? Please stand up. I forgive you any suffering you have caused me, and ask the same of you. You shall come to my wedding tomorrow in splendid dress—and once I’m married, I’ll ask my husband to have Frederick pardoned.”

“I am forever grateful,” said Ortrude. “Never can I repay you fully—but perhaps my powers of prophecy can at least save you some misfortune.”

“What do you mean?” said Elsa.

“I fear you place too much faith in a man who appears by magic and conceals his origin. What will stop him from leaving as he came?”

“Poor woman,” said Elsa. “Can you not believe in a love with no doubts or regrets? But now come inside.”

---

3

Early next morning, summoned by trumpeters, the men of Brabant gathered in the castle courtyard. Soon the king’s herald appeared.

“Hear the words of King Henry: Count Frederick of Telramund is banished for falsehood in the trial by combat. The knight sent by God is given this land to rule as Protector of Brabant. The Protector bids you join in his wedding feast today, then return tomorrow to follow him in service to the king’s army.”

The news was met with joy and excitement. Then the door of the women’s quarters opened and the ladies’ wedding procession emerged. In her magnificent attire, Elsa was hailed as she made her way to the chapel.

But just as Elsa reached the steps, Ortrude rushed from behind and blocked her path. “For a single hour I forgot my worth, but no longer will I meekly follow. I am your better, Elsa, so now give way to me!”

“Ortrude, what’s come over you? Was I taken in by sheer pretense? How can you set yourself before me, when your husband was condemned by God?”

Ortrude said, “Before my husband was judged wrongly, he was honored and revered throughout this land. But who here knows your knight? You yourself don’t even know his name! Secret it must be, to shield his magic power. You know that must be true, or else you’d ask it of him!”

Just then the procession from the men’s quarters began—but when the knight saw the disturbance, he hurried forward, King Henry close behind.

“Unholy woman, why are you near her?” the knight said to Ortrude. “Away with you! Here you can never win.”

Tenderly he took his weeping bride in his arms. “Elsa, did she try to poison your heart? Come into the chapel, and let me change those tears to tears of joy.”

But as they climbed the chapel steps, they were blocked once more, this time by Frederick. “Stop, you deceiver!”

The king demanded, “Why is this man here? He has been banished!”

“King Henry, all of you, listen to me!” cried Frederick. “I have been done a great injustice. This knight corrupted the sacred trial by use of magic. He succeeded only because we failed to ask a vital question. But he won’t escape it now! Stranger, who are you, and where have you come from?”

The knight said, “I need not answer one who is steeped in evil.”

“If he will not answer me,” said Frederick, “then let King Henry ask him. Surely he cannot refuse the king.”

“Not even the king would I answer,” said the knight. “He is well able to judge me by my deeds. No, there is one only I could not refuse.” He turned to Elsa with a smile—but it vanished when he found her staring into the distance, trembling.

“Friend,” said the king, “you need not listen to this man’s charges. You have our complete faith.”

As the men of Brabant pressed around the knight to pledge support, Frederick slipped close to Elsa and spoke softly. “There is a way to reveal his secret and keep him by you forever. I need cut off only the smallest part of him, just the tip of his finger. I will be close tonight. Call and it will be quickly done.”

“Never!” she said.

“Elsa!” cried the knight. “What is that man doing there? Away from her, both of you wicked ones! Never let me see you near her again!” He turned solemnly to his bride. “Elsa, in your hands lies the fate of all our happiness.”

“My deliverer,” said Elsa shakily, “above all doubts my love shall stand.”

The knight smiled, took her hand, and led her up to the chapel.

---

4

Late that evening, when ceremony and celebration were done, Elsa and the knight were led to their bridal chamber.

“At last,” said the knight, embracing his bride, then drawing her to the couch by the open window. “We are alone for the first time since we met. Elsa, are you happy?”

“How much more than happy! I am filled with a heavenly joy.”

“As am I,” said the knight. “How noble is our love! We could sense each other even before we met.”

“I saw you in a dream!” said Elsa. “Then when you stood before me, I wanted nothing more than to be yours. What word can describe the depth of my love? None can there be—except perhaps your own name.”

“Elsa,” said the knight uneasily.

“How sweet my name when you say it!” said Elsa. “Will I never know the sweetness that comes from saying yours? Not even in the most private hours of our love?”

“Elsa, consider the fragrant perfumes from the garden outside this window. I give myself to them in delight without knowing fully what they are. Even so I gave myself to you. From but a single sight, I was certain of your innocence and pledged myself to defend you.”

“Yes,” said Elsa, “and if only I could find a way to serve you too, a way to help you bear a burden. Perhaps shame or suffering would befall you if your secret were known. But I could keep that secret with you, and nothing would tear it from me. Let me prove my worth by sharing it!”

The knight stood and stepped away. “Elsa, you will more than prove your worth if you keep your promise not to ask! Dearest one, let me be only happy in your love. It is my one repayment for what I’ve given up. For I come not from grief and misery as you may think, but from light and grace—from the noblest life a man may live!”

“What are you saying?” cried Elsa, rising in despair. “If that is what you’ve left behind, how long before you wish to return? Am I to merely count the days until you leave? How can I think that my poor love could satisfy you?”

“Elsa, your love will ever hold me, unless it’s spoiled by doubts.”

“Do I hear something?” said Elsa, staring into the distance. “It is the swan! You have called it to take you back!”

“I beg you, Elsa, stop this madness!”

“Nothing can ease my mind,” she said, “nothing can stop my doubts—nothing but knowing what you hide. So hear and answer me now: Where have you come from? What is your lineage? And what is your name?”

“Elsa! What have you done?”

At that moment, behind the knight, Frederick and four of his men stepped silently into the room, swords drawn. “Save yourself!” cried Elsa. She picked up the knight’s scabbard from where it lay on the couch and held it out to him. With one swift motion, he drew his sword, whirled around, and slew Frederick.

The others dropped their swords and fell to their knees. Elsa sank to the floor.

“Now,” said the knight, “all our joy is gone.”

He instructed the men to carry Frederick’s body to King Henry. Then he called for ladies-in-waiting to ready his wife. “Before the king,” he said, “her questions shall be answered.”

---

5

Just after dawn, on the riverbank outside the city, King Henry again stood beneath the great oak with his Saxon nobles. Arrayed before him were the men of Brabant, dressed in battle gear and ready to follow their new Protector into the king’s army.

“It does my heart good to see you all,” said the king. “With valiant fighters such as you, we shall surely drive back the invaders.”

Just then, four men brought up a covered bier and placed it before the king. To his shocked questioning, they replied only that all would be revealed by the new Protector.

Elsa too then arrived with her ladies-in-waiting. “You look so sorrowful,” said the king. “Is it because your husband leaves with me?” But Elsa was silent.

At last came the knight himself, dressed as on his first arrival.

“Friend,” said the king, “you see here the men you called to war, ready for victory under your command.”

“King Henry,” said the knight, “I cannot lead them into battle.”

“What’s this?” said the king in distress.

“I come today,” said the knight, “not as leader but as plaintiff.” He uncovered Frederick’s body, to the stunned murmurs of all assembled. “First I ask you to judge this man, who attacked me in the night. Please say whether I was right to take his life.”

“Without question!” said the king.

“And now I charge another,” said the knight. “My wife has betrayed me, by asking what she promised not to ask.”

“Elsa!” cried the king.

The knight said, “I could refuse to answer both enemies and friends, but not my wife. So before you all, I give now the answers to her questions.”

The knight gazed into the distance. “In a far land you will never see, there lies a castle, and in that castle stands a temple filled with light. Within that temple is the holiest of relics—the Grail, used at his last supper by our Lord. Brought to earth by angels, its holy power each year is renewed by a dove come down from Heaven.

“The guardians of the Grail are a brotherhood of the purest knights. When the Grail calls a knight to this service, it arms him with a power no evil can defeat. This power he keeps even if he is sent abroad to defend virtue. But so subtle is the blessing that it flees the presence of unholy men if ever the knight’s identity is revealed.

“Now learn what you have wished to know: I come here from the Grail. My father, Parsifal, wears its crown. And I, its knight, am Lohengrin.”

Murmurs of amazement rose from all around. The knight turned to Elsa.

“My dearest wife, all my holy power I wanted only to devote to you. Why did you force from me my secret? But now the harm is done, and I must go.”

“Husband, don’t leave! Be merciful as God is merciful. Accept my repentance, or punish me yourself, I beg you.”

“There is but one punishment for your deed,” said the knight, “a punishment we both must suffer: I must return to the Grail.”

“Stay with us!” enjoined the king. “Your men need you in the fight.”

“I have no choice,” said the knight. “If I disobey the Grail and stay, even my own human strength will be taken from me.”

Once more he turned to Elsa. “If I could have remained even for one year, the power of the Grail would have brought back to you your brother, who is still alive. But if he somehow does return, give him this horn, this sword, and this ring.”

Just then, shouts went up from men by the river’s edge.

“Look!”

“The swan!”

“It comes again!”

“No!” cried Elsa.

“So the Grail sends for me,” said the knight. “Farewell, my sweet wife.”

But at that moment, out from the crowd stepped Ortrude. “That’s right, proud knight, go home! Leave me to tell your foolish bride who that swan really is. I know him by the golden chain I placed around his neck when I enchanted him. Elsa, it is your own brother, Godfrey.”

Cries of horror rose from the crowd. “Yes, Elsa, and by driving off your knight, you have sealed your brother’s fate. Now you shall ever know the vengeance of the old gods I still worship.”

The knight had reached the river’s edge, and now he knelt in prayer. As all eyes watched, a white dove fluttered down and hovered over the boat. Seeing it, the knight leaped up and took the chain from around the swan’s neck. And there in place of the swan, clad in silver armor, stood Elsa’s brother.

“Behold your new leader,” said the knight. “Here is Godfrey, Duke of Brabant.”

Ortrude collapsed with a shriek. As the men of Brabant knelt in homage to their young duke, Godfrey bowed to the king, then rushed to embrace his amazed sister. For a brief moment, her face lit in joy—then she looked again toward the river.

“My husband!” she cried.

There he stood in the little boat, head bowed, leaning on his shield, as the white dove pulled him upriver—back to the land of the Grail.

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About the Story

This is a retelling of one of the most popular operas of the great nineteenth-century German composer Richard Wagner. Lohengrin was first performed in 1850, though Wagner himself never saw a performance until 1861. (Shortly after composing it, he was forced to flee Germany for his part in a failed political uprising.)

Wagner’s opera is itself a retelling of popular medieval legends of the “Swan Knight.” Deriving from oral tradition, the legend appeared in written versions starting in the early thirteenth century. It is found in such German works as Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival, Konrad von Würzburg’s The Swan Knight, and the anonymous epic Lohengrin. It is found also in works from France, Italy, Spain, and Iceland.

Legends, though fictional, generally enlist real persons, places, and/or events to add credence. The historical setting for Wagner’s version is more than usually specific: 933 A.D., in the city of Antwerp, in the duchy of Brabant—a land now divided between Belgium and the Netherlands. Wagner’s king is Henry I, commonly called “Henry the Fowler”—a king well known to history for uniting the German lands to successfully fight off barbarian tribes from the east.

Also represented in the opera is the time’s lingering conflict between the newly dominant religion of Christianity and the surviving worship of the old Germanic gods—gods that Wagner himself featured in his later and most famous work, the four-opera series The Ring of the Nibelung.

The “trial by combat” that figures in this legend is one type of “ordeal”—a way to judge guilt or innocence by invoking divine or supernatural intervention. The use of ordeals was common in the Europe of the early Middle Ages, as it has been in many times and places around the world. The idea was that God would reveal judgment by protecting the one who was innocent. Fortunately for Elsa, it actually worked in her case.

In my retelling, dialogue is paraphrased rather than translated, and names are anglicized for easier pronunciation. The most helpful translations consulted were by Chris Wood, and by Amanda Holden with Stewart Spencer. My thanks to the Los Angeles Opera for a memorable first taste of Lohengrin in live performance.

For an audio recording of the opera, I recommend Georg Solti conducting the Vienna Philharmonic, from London Records, 1990; and for a video recording, Claudio Abbado conducting the Vienna State Opera, from Kultur International, 1991. A good, fun intro to Wagner and his operas is Wagner Without Fear, by William Berger, Vintage, New York, 1998. For those with musical training, there’s also Wagner, by Barry Millington, Princeton University, Princeton, New Jersey, 1992 (revised edition).