Elsa started. Without stirring, and her face deadly pale, she listened breathlessly for her father’s reply.
“Gladly would I give my child to thy safe keeping, noble cousin. But in this matter I must leave the maiden free to choose for herself. If she accept thy hand, thou hast my full consent and blessing. More than this I cannot say.”
The count knelt and pressed his lips to the hand of the dying duke, who, blessing Telramund, sank back exhausted and bade him farewell.
Shortly after, the good prince died, at peace with all.
Elsa, heartbroken at her father’s death, found her only consolation in her young brother Godfrey. For a long time she refused to see anyone else.
Count Telramund often sought opportunity to speak with her, but she avoided him with dread.
Then Telramund changed his tone, and demanded her hand as his right, the dying bequest of her father the duke.
“My father left me free,” answered Elsa, indignant. “Never would he wish me to give my hand where I could not give my heart also, sir count.”
No woman, and very few men, had ever dared to contradict his wishes; sooner or later, he vowed, she should be his.
Now there was a wicked lady, of a tall, commanding figure, dark and handsome—Ortruda by name. She was very learned, and had studied all manner of sorceries, which enabled her to exert the magic power of a witch. Her forefathers had once been mighty princes, who reigned over Brabant and all the countries round. She regarded Elsa and Godfrey as usurpers, holding what rightfully belonged to her; and she hated them with a bitter hatred. Also, there was another and a deeper cause for her hatred towards Elsa; and that was, that she herself had long wished to marry Count Telramund.