aith to the
well-tested strength of her husband's arm.

At the thrice-repeated blow of the King's sword upon his shield, the
combatants enter the lists. The duel lasts but a moment. Friedrich
falls, not from any wound, but from the lightening flash of the
adversary's sword, brought down upon him with a great sweep. The
mysterious weight of it crushes him to the earth, overthrows him,
deprives him of force to rise again. The gleaming enemy stands over
him with sword-point at his throat: "By victory through God your
life now belongs to me. I give it you. Make use of it to repent!"

In the rejoicings that follow, the acclamations of the victorious
champion of innocence, no one takes any thought further of the
vanquished. Unnoticed he writhes, appalled at the recognition that
very God has beaten him, that honour--honour is lost! The wife struggles
with a different emotion. Her eyes, unimpressed by his splendour,
unconvinced by his victory, boldly scrutinise the countenance of
the Swan-brought, to discover the thing he had forbidden Elsa to
inquire, what manner of man he be. Who is this, she asks herself,
that has overcome her husband, that has placed a term to her power?
Is it one whom verily she need fear? Must she give up her hopes
because of him?

II.

The Second Act shows the great court in the citadel of Antwerp,
bounded at the back by the Palace, where the knights are lodged;
at the left, by the Kemenate, the women's apartments; at the right,
by the Minster. It is night. The windows of the Palace are brightly
lighted; smothered bursts of music from time to time issue forth
from them. Telramund and Ortrud, in the poor garb of plebeians,
sit on the church-steps. Excommunication and banishment, following
the condemnation of God signified by such defeat as Telramund has
suffered, have made of them beggars and fugitives. Telramund is
sunk in dark reflection. Ortrud, half-crouched like a dangerous
animal lying in wait, stares intently at the lighted windows. With
sudden effort of resolve Telramund rouses himself and gets to his
feet. "Come, companion of my disgrace!" he speaks to the woman
beside him; "Daybreak must not find us here." She does not stir.
"I cannot move from here," she answers; "I am spell-bound upon
this spot. From the contemplation of this brilliant banqueting of
our enemies let me absorb a fearful mortal venom, whereby I shall
bring to an end both our ignominy and their rejoicing!" Friedrich
shudder