When the news of Tannhaeuser's return spread through the Wartburg, there
was great rejoicing. Smiles of gladness appeared on every face. Tall
knights held out hands of welcome; small pages hastened to do him honor.
Him whom they should have loathed, they greeted as a comrade, hailed as
a hero. For they knew not where he had been.
And the joy of the Princess Elizabeth surpassed that of all the rest.
Misery vanished from her face. Delight took its place. All her years of
sadness were forgotten, and as she entered the Hall of the Minstrels, a
song of joy sprang unbidden from her lips. Had not the knight to whom
she had given her heart returned from his wanderings in foreign lands?
And would he not take his place among the minstrels as of old in a
Tournament of Song on that very day? His melodious harp and his rich
voice would ring out once again, and hers would be the hand to crown him
with the wreath of victory.
The Princess smiled happily as she walked through the great hall and
joined her uncle, the Landgrave, upon the throne. The Landgrave watched
her approach, and his face beamed with pride. Was there ever a more
beautiful Princess? Her lovely face was aglow. Her eyes shone with a
luster as deep as that of the jewels about her neck. Her skin was fairer
than the lilies that she held in her hand. From the shining tresses of
her hair where a little golden crown sent out glittering sparks of light
to the last heavy fold of silvery satin that trailed behind her, she was
a creature to be honored, to be reverenced, to be loved.
"How glad I am to have you at my side once more!" whispered the
Landgrave as they made ready to receive the nobles and fair ladies who
had been bidden to the contest. For already the measured tread of many
feet was heard in the distance.
Presently through the pillared doorway, to the sound of martial music
and the fluttering of flags, the guests entered the hall, and in stately
procession approached the throne. Then, after a bow from the Landgrave
and a word of greeting from the Princess, the pages led each to a place
in the huge semicircle of seats that half filled the hall.
When all had arrived, the Landgrave arose, and, turning first to his
guests and then to the Minstrels who were seated on low benches facing
them all, made his address of greeting. He told of the many song
festivals that had been held within the ancient hall, and how
each had added to the fair fame of the nation. Many deeds, many
emotions, had been celebrated in song, said he, but the sweetest of
all--Love--remained--and would be the theme of that day's contest.
The minstrel who could sing most worthily about love would receive
love's prize as a reward--the hand of Elizabeth, the Princess.
"Up then, arouse ye! sing, O gallant minstrels! attune your harps to
love! Great is the prize."
A great shout of approval marked the end of the Landgrave's speech.
"Hail, all hail, Lord of Thuringia!" cried hundreds of voices.
When all was still, two little pages carried a golden cup containing the
names of the singers to the Princess. She drew one folded paper and
handed it to the pages. They read the name and then advanced to the
middle of the hall. In high, clear voices they called out,--
"Sir Wolfram von Eschenbach, begin!"
There was a short pause while Sir Wolfram rose to his feet. Tannhaeuser
sat, as if in a dream, leaning upon his harp. His eyes strayed through
the open doorway far across the peaceful valley to the dark and gloomy
mountain beyond. And though an inner voice whispered: "Turn away your
eyes, Sir Knight! 'Tis the abode of evil to which your thoughts are
wandering. Have a care, or magic power will rule you again!" he heeded
it not.
But the eyes of Wolfram sought the pure face of the Princess on the
throne. His hands evoked a tender, rippling strain from the harp--and he
began to sing.
He sang a quiet song of unselfish love, pure love, which doubts not and
trusts ever; which gives more than it seeks.
He sang of a love, half sacrifice, wholly devotion--which asks nothing,
wants nothing, but gives, always gives. His song fell like a gentle
prayer upon the ears of his listeners.
"Bravo!" they cried, when he had finished. "You have done well, Sir
Wolfram. Bravo!"
And they clapped their hands and nodded in approval, whispering and
smiling at one another. All but Tannhaeuser. His face had changed. It had
become angry, impatient, defiant. This gentle strain that spoke of
endless devotion and sacrifice; was that love? No, no. He arose
abruptly. He seemed to be looking beyond the familiar hall and the
well-known faces, to some unseen vision of delight. An uncanny smile
played about his lips. He touched the harp strings, and they jangled
with strange harmonies. The people were startled, alarmed. They half
rose from their seats. Was it madness that inspired the knight? Ah! if
they but knew.
Tannhaeuser, heeding naught, lifted his voice and sang. And while he
sang, the spell of enchantment enmeshed him again. Rose-colored mists
swam before his eyes and blinded him. He heard the far-off strains of
music, he saw the dancing figures, and a siren voice urged him on. He
thought of endless pleasure, ceaseless delight. Again he forgot work,
thrice-blessed work. He forgot the ancient hall; he forgot the pure
presence of Elizabeth; he forgot his God. He sang a wicked song, an evil
song, a song of sinful pleasure, a song of Venus. He had vowed that he
would sing her praises forevermore. Now he would keep his word. His
voice soared high in a wild hymn of praise.
"Would you know love?" he cried, flinging aside his harp and stretching
out his arms:
"Fly to Venus. She can teach you!"
His words struck the people like a thunder-bolt and left them stunned,
horrified. Suddenly, like a wave of anger, arose the tumult of cries.
"Listen! Hear him! Oh! Most horrible! He has been in the Venusburg."
The ladies hurried in consternation and affright from the hall. Only
Elizabeth stood, pale and trembling, leaning against the throne. All her
delight was turned to misery once more.
The Landgrave, the minstrels, the nobles, gathered together and gazed
with horror upon Tannhaeuser, who, oblivious of all save the evil vision,
gazed enraptured, straight ahead.
The horror of the men soon gave way to indignation, the indignation in
turn to fury and hatred. As from one throat, a mighty shout went up,--
"Kill him!"
And with one accord they drew their swords and pressed upon Tannhaeuser
to slay him. But at that instant a white figure with trailing draperies
rushed toward them. She threw herself before Tannhaeuser, shielding him
with her body. It was Elizabeth, the Princess.
"Stop," she cried. "Stay your hands!"
The men fell back in amazement as she fell upon her knees before them.
She, the proud Princess, most cruelly wronged, would she shield one who
had fallen so low?
Yes, she would shield him, even with her life. He had sinned. Ah, how he
had sinned! But he had sinned against God, and God must be his judge.
Who were they to judge him and deny him the opportunity to repent? Would
they rob his soul of its eternal peace? Thus she pleaded and begged for
Tannhaeuser's life, while tears rained down her white cheeks.
The men were touched. Anger slowly gave way to calm. One by one they
sheathed their swords and turned toward the Landgrave.
Meanwhile Tannhaeuser, at the sound of Elizabeth's pleading voice, turned
his head. As though just awakened from an evil dream, he stared at her
kneeling figure, the drawn swords, the horror-stricken faces. Suddenly
he remembered all that he had said, all that he had done. The enormity
of his sin rushed upon him. He realized how he had outraged friendship,
love, religion, all that was holy, pure, and good. In fearful contrition
he fell upon the floor, sobbing and crying out in his misery and
distress. Where could he look for pardon now?
Suddenly, through the open doorway, there came the sound of the song of
the pilgrim band on its way to Rome. It was a song of prayer and praise,
a song of repentance and confession, a song of peace with God. It
brought hope and a promise of comfort.
Silence filled the great hall as the notes died away in the distance.
Only Elizabeth's face, white and pleading, was lifted toward the
Landgrave's in silent prayer.
The Landgrave gazed at Tannhaeuser's bent figure, and feelings of pity
mingled with the loathing he felt. Advancing solemnly toward Tannhaeuser,
he bade him arise and join the band of pilgrims now on its way to Rome.
No other way was open to one who had sinned as he had sinned. And, if
after confession, he was pardoned for his grievous wrong, he might
return to the Wartburg. Otherwise they never wished to see him again.
At these words Tannhaeuser sprang to his feet. The echo of the pilgrim's
voice still lingered in the air. He listened a moment while a ray of
hope illumined his anguish-stricken face. Then with a cry "To Rome! To
Rome!" he hastened from the room.
[Illustration: TANNHAEUSER AT THE BIER OF ELIZABETH
(After a painting by Von Kaulbach)]