Great Opera Stories Part 14

But Venus only smiled a dreamy smile and spoke in soft whispers of the charm of her domain. And the dancers circled about in a maddening whirl, ever faster and faster. The odor of the strange flowers became still heavier. Sparkling points of light gleamed among the shadows. A mysterious blue lake appeared in the hazy distance, and misty clouds of rose and gold floated in the air.

But Tannhauser still remembered. He loathed the never-ending delights; the ceaseless ease and rest; the songs, the odors, the mist. Ah! for but a sight of Heaven's clear blue, its clouds and sun of noonday, its moon and stars of night; the changing round of seasons, seed time and harvest; the mingled joys and pains; and work, thrice-blessed work!

Tannhauser took up his harp and sang to Venus once more. The strings rang with the vigor of his touch; his voice soared high in heart-stirring refrain. He promised that as long as he had life he would sing the praises of Venus. Wherever he might roam, her name--and hers alone--would bring a song to his lips. As her champion would he fare forth upon the earth again. All this he promised, if she would only set him free.

Anger overwhelmed the G.o.ddess--but she hesitated no longer. Let him spread her fame and name through the upper world that had banished her!

With one sweep of her arms she broke the chains of enchantment that bound Tannhauser fast. Crying,--

"If all hope is lost, return to me!" she bade him depart.

At that moment a terrific crash rent the air. It seemed as though the earth had been burst asunder. The mists, the gleaming figures, the cave, disappeared; and--

Tannhauser found himself lying on a gra.s.sy knoll in a sunlit valley. On one side was the black and gloomy Horselburg; on the other a lofty peak crowned by the Wartburg, stately, grand, majestic, as of yore.

Flowers bloomed all about; the sky was serene and beautiful; birds sang; a gentle breeze swayed the trees.

From the cliff above came the sound of a pipe. A young shepherd was watching his flock there, and he sang a tender little song, all sweetness and melody. The simple beauty of it, the purity, touched Tannhauser's heart, and as he listened his eyes filled with tears.

Suddenly the sonorous tones of men's voices filled the air. Then down the winding pathway and through the valley came the tramp, tramp, tramp, of many feet. And to the solemn strains of a song of prayer a band of pilgrims pa.s.sed slowly by on the way to Rome to seek pardon for their sins. The little shepherd bared his head until the last pilgrim had pa.s.sed him by. Then, waving his cap, he shouted:

"G.o.d speed, G.o.d speed! Say one prayer for me!"

But Tannhauser sat as one spellbound, until all at once, deeply overcome, he fell upon his knees. Ah, where could _he_ look for pardon for _his_ sins? The memory of all that ill-spent time in the Venusburg rushed upon him. Could he pray to the G.o.d whom he had forgotten? Tears choked his voice, and although a prayer arose from his heart it found no utterance. He lay p.r.o.ne upon the ground, weeping bitterly.

The song of the pilgrims, the measured tread of their feet, grew faint and still fainter. It died away in the distance. Quiet ruled the peaceful valley again, for even the shepherd boy had gathered his flock and gone silently away.

Soon, however, the cheery sound of hunters' horns and the answering bay of dogs broke the silence. A moment later, a pack of dogs ran down the forest path from the Wartburg, followed by the Landgrave Herman and his Knights, all clad in hunting dress.

Seeing the figure of a knight lying upon the ground, their curiosity was at once aroused. One of the party, Sir Wolfram, ran hastily forward. A single glance was enough.

"Tannhauser!" he cried. "Is it you?"

Tannhauser arose hastily, striving to control his emotion and bowed mutely to the Landgrave.

At first the Knights were uncertain whether he had come back as friend or foe. But his humble, downcast looks soon spoke for him. So they welcomed him gladly into their midst.

But Tannhauser was loath to stay. He knew that if once the Knights learned where he had been, they would shrink from him in horror. Looking into their friendly faces, he was overwhelmed with disgust for all that wicked time in the Venusburg. He longed to fly from their sight.

Since he would not listen to the entreaties of the Landgrave and his Knights, Sir Wolfram, Tannhauser's old friend, added his plea:

"Have you forgotten Elizabeth?" he asked.

"Elizabeth!" Tannhauser exclaimed in a tone of awe,--Elizabeth, the beautiful Princess, whose name he had forgotten--what of her?

Then Wolfram, speaking softly,--for he loved the beautiful princess also,--told Tannhauser all. He told of that rare prize--the Princess's love--which had remained constant during Tannhauser's long absence. Many Knights had striven to win her, but she had remained true to the one who had gone away. While Tannhauser had strayed in distant lands, she had stayed in her bower saddened and alone, never gracing the tournaments with her presence, never coming forth to witness joust or tourney. Would he forsake a love like that?

Deeply touched, Tannhauser listened until the end. Then the light of a great joy and a great hope illumined his face. If Elizabeth, the proud Princess, had not forgotten him, perhaps he might still continue as a Minstrel Knight in the Wartburg.

"Lead me to her," he cried,--"to her."

So the Landgrave sounded his horn, and to the lively baying of the dogs and the joyous song of the Knights the whole party proceeded to the Wartburg.

II

When the news of Tannhauser'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 surpa.s.sed 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 l.u.s.ter 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 s.h.i.+ning 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 n.o.bles 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. Tannhauser 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 Tannhauser. 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.

Tannhauser, 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 G.o.d. 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: