At the beginning of the third act the wedding day has dawned.  It finds Agathe kneeling in prayer robed for the wedding.  She sings a cavatina ("Und ob die Wolken sie verhulle”) which proclaims her trust in Providence.  Aennchen twits her for having wept; but “bride’s tears and morning rain—­neither does for long remain.”  Agathe has been tortured by a dream, and Aennehen volunteers to interpret it.  The bride had dreamt that she had been transformed into a white dove and was flying from tree to tree when Max discharged his gun at her.  She fell stricken, but immediately afterward was her own proper self again and saw a monstrous black bird of prey wallowing in its blood.  Aennchen explains all as reflexes of the incidents of the previous night—­the work on the white bridal dress, the terrible black feather on Max’s hat; and merrily tells a ghostly tale of a nocturnal visitor to her sainted aunt which turned out to be the watch-dog.  Enter the bridesmaids with their song:—­

[Musical excerpt—­“Wir winden dir den Jungfernkranz mit veilchenblauer Seide”]

Nearly three generations of Germans have sung this song; it has accompanied them literally from the cradle to the grave.  When Ludwig Geyer, Richard Wagner’s stepfather, lay dying, the lad, then seven years old, was told to play the little piece in a room adjoining the sick chamber.  The dying man had been concerned about the future of his stepson.  He listened.  “What if he should have talent for music?” Long years after the mother told this story, and the son, when he became famous as a composer, repeated it in one of his autobiographical writings, and told with what awe his childish eyes had looked on the composer as he passed by the door on the way to and from the theatre.

Evil omens pursue Agathe even on her bridal morn.  The bridesmaids are still singing to her when Aennchen brings a box which she thinks contains the bridal wreath.  All fall back in dismay when out comes a funeral wreath of black.  Even Aennchen’s high spirits are checked for a moment; but she finds an explanation.  Old Cuno has tumbled from the wall a second time; but she herself assumes the blame:  the nail was rusty and she not an adept with the hammer.  The action now hastens to its close.  Prince Ottokar, with his retainers, is present at the festival at which Max is to justify Cuno’s choice of him as a son-in-law.  The choice meets with the Prince’s approval.  The moment approaches for the trial shot, and Max stands looking at the last of his charmed bullets, which seems to weigh with ominous heaviness in his hand.  He had taken four of the seven and Caspar three.  Of the four he had spent three in unnecessary shots; but he hopes that Caspar has kept his.  Of course Caspar has done nothing of the kind.  It is suggested that Max shoot at once, not awaiting the arrival of his betrothed, lest the sight of her make him nervous.  The Prince points to a white dove as the mark, and Max lifts his gun.