Chapter II

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.