ene changes now to one of sylvan solitude, through which two
wanderers are sauntering. They are artists, and one of them,
Reinhardt, is attracted to the spot by his longing for the sweet
village-flower, whom he has not forgotten in the whirl of the great
world. Already he sees the windows of his sweet-heart glimmer through
the trees, when suddenly light footsteps cause the friends to hide
behind a large oak-tree. The two maidens who appear are Lorle and
Baerbele. The former prays fervently, then throwing her garland she
shyly calls her lover's name Reinhardt. The latter stepping from
behind the tree skillfully catches the wreath--and the maiden. This
moment decides upon their fates; Reinhardt passionately declares his
love, while Walter amuses himself with pretty Baerbele, whose naive
coquetry pleases him mightily.

The following act introduces us to Reinhardt's studio in a German
residence. A year has gone by since he wooed and won his bride; alas,
he is already tired of her. The siren Maria countess of Matran, with
whom he was enamoured years ago and whose portrait he has just
finished, has again completely bewitched him.

{179}

In vain Lorle adorns herself in her bridal attire at the anniversary of
their wedding; the infatuated husband has no eye for her loveliness,
and roughly pushes her from him. Left alone the poor young wife gives
vent to her feelings in an exquisite sigh of longing for her native
country. "Haett' ich verlassen nie dich, meine Haiden." (Would I had
never left thee, o my heath.)

A visit from her dear Baerbele somewhat consoles her and delights
Walter, the faithful house-friend. Balder, Lorle's old play mate,
still recruit, also comes in and gladdens her by a bunch of
heath-flowers. But hardly have they enjoyed their meeting, when the
prince is announced, who desires to have a look at the countess'
portrait. The rustic pair are hastily hidden behind the easel, and
Lorle receives his Royal Highness with artless gracefullness,
presenting him with the flowers she has just received. Her husband is
on thorns, but the prince affably accepts the gift and invites her to a
festival, which is to take place in the evening. Then he looks at the
picture, expressing some disappointment about its execution, which so
vexes the sensitive artist that he roughly pushes the picture from the
easel thereby revealing the two innocents behind it. Great is his
wrath at his wife's imprudence, while t