working himself into a condition of madness as he did at the Tournament of Song—­only now the madness is the madness of despair, not excessive exaltation—­he calls on Venus.  From the heart of the mountain she answers; the scene grows wilder and wilder; he sees Venus awaiting him; the air is filled with strange odours and stranger music.  Wolfram struggles to prevent Tannhaeuser going to Venus; Venus calls him clearly and more clearly; suddenly Wolfram says, “A maiden is even now making intercession for you at God’s throne—­Elisabeth!” “Elisabeth!” echoes Tannhaeuser—­stunned and astonished.  The mists clear away; from behind the scenes a requiem for Elisabeth’s soul is heard; Venus gives a final wail, “Woe! lost to me!” and sinks into the earth; slowly morning dawns, and a funeral train bearing Elisabeth on a bier slowly comes in.  “Holy Elisabeth, pray for me,” Tannhaeuser cries, and, sinking down, he dies.  More pilgrims enter, bearing the pope’s staff, which has miraculously blossomed in token that God’s mercy is greater than man’s, and that Tannhaeuser is pardoned; all sing a song of praise, and the opera terminates.

At the Dresden performances in 1845 this ending was cut, but that Wagner reckoned it of the utmost importance is shown by a letter written to Uhlig in 1851:  “The reason for leaving out the announcement of the miracle, in the Dresden change, was quite a local one:  the chorus was always bad, flat and uninteresting; also an imposing scenic effect—­a splendid, gradual sunrise was wanting.”  Now, in the twentieth century, it is indeed hard to understand how an intellect so keen as our Richard’s, a dramatic and poetic instinct almost infallible with regard to all other things, could have failed to see and feel the absurdity of Elisabeth’s death being necessary to Tannhaeuser’s salvation.  Was it the only way to get rid of the lady—­a pis aller?—­a last remnant of the old-fashioned technique?  In the original legend Tannhaeuser goes back to Venus:  that would be ineffective and leave Elisabeth’s future unprovided for.  On the other hand, Wagner would never have selected the story for operatic treatment at all had it not instantly shaped itself in his mind as it now stands:  he was, I say, obsessed by this notion of man’s redemption by woman; it was part of his creed and not to be questioned.  So I think that we must simply take it as it is, accepting Wagner’s creed for the moment as a necessary convention.  At the same time let us realize that it is an illogical development of the drama and not, as the Wagnerites comically insist, the symbol of an eternal verity.  Allowing for the time occupied in mediaeval days by the journey from Rome to the heart of Germany, the pope’s staff must have burst into leaf and flower long, long before Elisabeth’s death.  While she was waiting for Tannhaeuser to come in with the first band of pilgrims, the second band was already on its way with the token of his pardon.  We need not be too inquisitive and wonder why Tannhaeuser should