f the other masters. Oh look, now, at this grand cavalier on the
white Arab! He is dismounting, and now he swings his bridle reins over
his arm, and, with genuine knightly courtesy, holds his hand out to
Countess Mathilda to help her from her saddle. See the grace with which
he stands, his bright blue eyes beaming on the lady. It is Wolfframb of
Eschinbach. But they are taking their places, and the contest is going
to begin."

"'Each of the masters in turn now sung a magnificent song. It was easy
to see that they strove to surpass each other. But though none of them
did altogether surpass the others--difficult as it was to decide which
of them had sung the best--yet the Lady Mathilda bent to Wolfframb of
Eschinbach with the garland, which she held in her hand, as the prize.
But Heinrich of Ofterdingen sprang up from his seat, with a gleam of
wild fire sparkling in his dark eyes; and as he stepped impetuously
forward to the centre of the meadow, a gust of wind carried away his
barret-cap, and the hair streamed up in spikes on his deadly pale
forehead.

"'"Stay! stay!" he cried, "the prize has not been won! my song, my song
has still to be heard; and then let the Landgrave say which of us wins
the garland."

"'"With this there came to his hand--one scarce could tell how or
whence--a lute of wonderful form, almost like some strange unearthly
creature turned to wood. This lute he began to play and strike with
such power, that all the distant woodlands trembled and shook to its
tones. Then he sang to its chords in a voice of grandeur and power, in
praise of a stranger prince, a mightier prince than all, whom every
master must hail and lowly worship, and laud, on pain of shame and
dismay, of speedy ruin and end. Often marvellous tones--sneering and
harsh, and wild--seemed to sound from the lute, as he was singing this
strain.

"'The Landgrave's glances were angry as this wild singer sang. But the
other masters sang all together, joining their voices in answer.
Heinrich's wonderful song was well-nigh lost in their singing. So that
he swept his strings with more and more passionate swell, till they
strained and shivered, and broke, uttering a cry as of pain. Then, in
place of the lute, lo! a sudden, dark horrible form was seen to stand
at his side; it grasped him with horrible talons, and rose with him up
to the air. The songs of the masters ceased, and died away in faint
echoes. Black clouds sunk down over forest and mead