ifficulty in the case: a charge so black against one
so young and a woman, made by a man so impassioned and almost of
necessity prejudiced, yet of long confirmed reputation for stern
integrity of honour as for bravery. "God give me wisdom!" the King
publicly prays.

The King's herald asks if the court of justice shall be held on
the spot? The King in answer hangs his shield on the Justice-Tree,
declaring that this shield shall not cover him until he shall have
spoken judgment, stern yet tempered with mercy. The nobles all
bare their swords, declaring that these shall not be restored to
their scabbards until they shall have seen justice done. The herald
in loud tones summons the accused, Elsa von Brabant, to appear
before this bar.

There advances slowly, followed by her women, a very young, very
fair girl, whose countenance and every motion are stamped with gentle
modesty. Between the dignity which upbears her and the sorrow which
crushes her, she is pathetic as a bruised lily. She looks dreamy
withal, as Telramund described her; her expression is mournfully
abstracted, her eyes are on the ground. The murmur passes from
lip to lip at sight of her: "How innocent she looks! The one who
dared to bring against her such a heavy accusation must be sure
indeed of her guilt."

She answers the King's first question, of her identity, by a motion
of the head alone. One divines that she has wept so much she could
only with difficulty summon up voice to speak. "Do you acknowledge
me as your rightful judge?" the King proceeds. She lifts her eyes
for a moment to read his, and slowly nods assent. "Do you know,"
he asks further, "whereof you are accused?" Her eyes slide for a
second toward Telramund and Ortrud, and she answers by an involuntary
shudder. "What have you to reply to the accusation?" With infinite
dignity she sketches a meek gesture signifying, "Nothing!"--"You
acknowledge then your guilt?" A faint cry, hardly more than a sigh,
breaks from her lips: "My poor brother!" and she remains staring
sorrowfully before her, as if upon a face invisible to the others.

Struck and moved, the good King, whom we heard promise that his
sentence should be _streng und mild_, severe yet merciful, speaks
kindly now to this strange girl, standing in such danger, yet engrossed
in other things,--invites her confidence. "Tell me, Elsa, what have
you to impart to me?" With her eyes fixed upon vacancy, she answers,
almost as if she spoke in s