However, the wedding arrangements go forward, and at the very church door Frederick interrupts the procession, and accuses Lohengrin of witchcraft and what not.  He is put aside; but in the next act we see the poison at work in Elsa’s mind.  She and her unknown husband are left alone, and, as Nietzsche observed, they sit up too late.  Elsa, with all the exasperating pertinacity of an illogical, curious woman, persists in questioning Lohengrin, getting nearer and nearer to the vital matter, until at last she can restrain herself no longer.  In fancy she sees the swan returning to carry off her lover; and, wholly terrified, she asks, “Who are you and where do you come from?” At the moment Frederick rushes in with some confederates, only to be slain by Lohengrin.  Sadly Lohengrin says that all now is ended; his hopes are shattered because his bride could not subdue her inquisitiveness for a year.  In the next act he appears before the King and nobles; he relates what has happened, says that he comes from Montsalvat, where his father, Parcival, is King, and now he must return.  Ortruda breaks through the crowd, and in malicious triumph confesses her crime.  Lohengrin prays to Heaven; the swan is changed back to Elsa’s brother, a dove descends and is attached to the boat, and Lohengrin sails away up the shining river, while all give a cry of distress.

We have here a simple fairy story.  It is the only opera in which character, a personal idiosyncrasy as distinct from an overwhelming passion, produces the dramatic action.  It has been urged that Lohengrin’s stipulation is monstrous; but seeing that he is bound—­we do not know how—­and that if Elsa had not agreed her fate had been quickly settled, it seems to me that (accepting the magical and supernatural elements on which the whole thing rests) it was perfectly reasonable.  I fancy that Wagner, after some years with his very stupid wife, Minna, was getting thoroughly angry with the irrational curiosity of women and the idiotic demands which they make on their life-mates.  Anyhow, though he gives Elsa some very beautiful music to sing, he does not spare her in drawing her character.  It is one of the few characters he did attempt to draw, and by far the most important of them.  In the Mastersingers Walther and Eva are sketched, and Hans Sachs is worked out in some detail; but nothing in their nature especially affects the drama.  In Lohengrin the tragedy is directly produced by Elsa’s weakness and curiosity.  The characterization is by no means profound or microscopic.  It is, indeed, a question whether music is capable of anything of the sort, whether it can render anything save bold, simple outlines.  In Figaro and Don Giovanni Mozart was content with this, and yet his characterization appears subtle in comparison with that of every other composer, with the exception of Wagner with his Elsa.  Music can express things that lie outside the range of literature; and perhaps fine and delicate portrait and character painting are things that lie outside the range of music.