One sees next an apartment in the royal palace, where festivities are in progress, to celebrate the coming nuptials of the Prince with the heiress of a neighbouring realm. To the gay music of a festal march, the royal guests are marshalled to their appointed places by a master of ceremonies; there are stately greetings, and a formal interchange of courtesies. The Prince enters presently, accompanied by the Queen-mother, whom he escorts to the seat of honour. His betrothed has then to be greeted and similarly handed to her place.
These ceremonies the Prince duly observes, but with a formality of manner which indicates that his attention is perfunctory. He seems moody and abstracted, and when presently he seats himself beside the Queen-mother, the dances which begin fail to arouse in him more than a listless interest.
The first of these dances—a valse performed by eight couples—is scarcely ended when there is a stir at one of the entrances to the hall. From the press of courtiers the master of ceremonies emerges, ushering forward a tall man of sinister aspect, richly but strangely attired, who leads by the hand a fair lady. The Prince rises to welcome the strangers. Courtesies having been exchanged, the Prince raises his eyes—and finds himself looking into the face of the Swan-maiden to whom he lost his heart so lately. He cannot restrain a movement of surprise—the sudden embodiment of his very thoughts seems beyond credence. But the recognition, as he perceives, is mutual; the fair stranger, as she suffers her forbidding escort to draw her aside, displays not less agitation than he.
Deep in perplexity the Prince resumes his seat. The master of ceremonies signs for the festivities to proceed, but neither a dashing czardas, nor the brilliant mazurka which follows, can distract the Prince from the anxious meditation into which he is plunged. Only when the beautiful stranger is again led forward does he shake off his abstraction. Eagerly he offers attendance upon her while she performs a pas seul before the court.
Standing unobtrusively at one side, the evil genie (for the Queen Swan’s escort is, of course, none other) watches from beneath his disguise the consummation of his wicked plan. With every attention that opportunity allows him to offer to the stranger, the Prince’s newly-fanned passion burns more ardently. And as with him, so with the luckless Swan-maiden. The dance but serves to melt the last icicle of her discretion, and when the Prince, remembering suddenly their situation, conscious of the gaze of all the court, would leave her and regain the composure he has lost, she holds and allures him with a beseeching look and gesture that is beyond resistance. Only when the dance is ended, and the Swan-maiden, herself awakening momentarily from her all but trance, retires hastily from the apartment, does the Prince resume command of himself.
The eyes of the courtiers are turned upon him expectantly, for the Prince himself is an accomplished dancer, and the moment has arrived when he should entertain the company with his skill. Fired by the ardour suppressed within him, he launches himself into a pas seul which astounds by its vigorous grace, measured agility, and brilliant daring of execution. At the very climax of his performance the beautiful stranger re-enters. Obedient to the Prince’s entreaty she dances once again; then joins him in the crowning intoxication of a pas de deux.
As the infatuated pair thus yield to each other’s embrace an uneasy stir runs through the watching ring of courtiers. The Queen-mother is perturbed, the Prince’s betrothed is wrath to be thus publicly slighted. The climax is reached when the lovers, oblivious of all, abandon themselves to an impassioned kiss. The Prince’s mother starts indignantly from her seat, and plucks him by the sleeve; at the same moment the Swan-maiden’s grim escort strides forward and snatches her from her lover’s embrace. In vain the Queen-mother urges her son to recollect the duty he owes to his estate, in vain his betrothed demands reparation for the affront she has suffered. The Prince has no thought save for the object of his passion, and is convulsed by overpowering emotion. Not less is the agony of the fair stranger, who struggles helplessly in the genie’s evil clutch. Consternation seizes the courtiers, which is increased as the lights are suddenly dimmed. In the confusion that ensues, the genie throws the now fainting figure of the Swan-maiden upon his shoulder, and carries her off. The Prince, seeing his beloved thus torn away, is nearly bereft of reason, but recovering himself with violent effort dashes madly through the press in hot pursuit.
The scene changes to the dim night-enshrouded margin of the lake. With furious haste the genie enters, dragging relentlessly behind him the drooping figure of the Swan-maiden. Piteously she sinks upon the bank, as the wicked tyrant urges her onward. She turns a last entreating look backward, and at that very moment the flying figure of the Prince appears. He falls upon his knees before her and seeks to hold her with his hands. But the genie redoubles his force: the hapless Swan-maiden is wrenched from her lover’s grasp, and borne out of sight.
The despairing Prince bows his head in mute and helpless agony. And while he yet kneels there, a white swan glides serenely across the surface of the lake. The prince sees it, and a dreadful thought clutches his heart. As the swan nears him he looks again—and lo, about its head, so delicately poised on the slender sinuous neck, is a golden crown!
The young man staggers and falls dead. Smoothly the Queen Swan urges her placid way across the shining surface of the lake.