Act 3 — Scene II

After all had gone Lohengrin sat upon the couch beneath the open casement and drew Elsa down beside him. He wished above all things to drive from her mind all thoughts of the suspicion which Ortrud had implanted. But even while he spoke most lovingly and reassuringly to her, her thoughts were upon the mystery of his name. When he spoke her own she looked at him reproachfully.

"Ah! my name sounds so beautiful to me from thy lips—if only I might speak thine!" she complained. "If thou wouldst only tell me thy name, it should never pass my lips." Lohengrin was sad upon hearing this. He spoke of other things—of how beautiful the night was, and of how they were to pass a long and happy life together; but still her thoughts, poisoned by Ortrud, returned again and again to the forbidden subject.

"Oh! do not doubt me! Let me share thy secret whatever it may be," she entreated. "I feel that I am not loved by thee, since I am not trusted with thy story—not even with thy name." At last, after begging her to be silent, after reminding her of her promise, after all the persuasions he could think of, he rose and spoke sternly:

"I have given thee the greatest confidence, by believing thee free from every stain. With no proof but thy word, I fought for thy honour. I asked no word to prove thy innocence. In return, I desired only silence from thee about my name and birth and land. It was partly for thy sake that I asked even so much. Now I will tell thee. But—" He hesitated, begging her once more to let them live in happiness, and not to ruin all by her fatal curiosity. At that moment, Frederick and his false nobles broke through the door with drawn swords. They had come to draw his blood and thus to render him quite powerless.

But Elsa, though quite ready to ruin him herself by her curiosity, would not let him be hurt by another. Lohengrin's armour was laid off, but the sword was by the couch. Elsa snatched it, thrust it into his hand and with a single blow he killed Frederick. The nobles fell upon their knees before him, while Elsa fainted. Lohengrin looked upon the scene, feeling nothing but despair. If his blood had not been shed, yet to save his life he had been forced to shed the blood of another, and he had thus been rendered helpless, quite the same. After a moment he rang a bell which summoned Elsa's ladies, and bidding the four nobles rise, he confided Elsa to the care of the women.

"Bear the corpse to the King's judgment hall," he said to the men, who then did as they were bid. "For you," he said to the women, "take your mistress into the presence of the King, and I will answer all that she desires to know. Nothing shall longer be hidden." He went out with his head bent and his thoughts very sad and melancholy. The day began to dawn, and the lights were all put out, and again the trumpets sounded in the courtyard.