grows indeed almost fervent in his praise of the quiet life, of adoring your beloved at a safe distance and never disturbing her (nor yourself) with a word about human passion; but, for my humble part, I beg to say I always share Tannhaeuser’s impatience and am glad when it is over.  As soon as Tannhaeuser gets up the mighty spirit of Wagner begins to work.  With a dramatic abruptness that startles one, a fragment of a Venusberg theme shoots up; then a few chords, and Tannhaeuser begins praise of the thing he understands by love.  His strains are impassioned—­too much so for another of the troubadours, Walther, who follows somewhat in Wolfram’s manner, but with much more energy.  Again there is, as it were, a glimpse of the Venusberg fire in the orchestra, and Tannhaeuser sings another song, more intense, again, in passion than his first, and ending with an aggressively fierce declaration of his creed.  Biterolf challenges him; the Venusberg music boils up once more—­we almost see the vision that is about to break on Tannhaeuser’s inner sight; he sings more passionately still the joys of a human love; Wolfram again contends, giving us this time a really glorious song, and the storm breaks:  the Venusberg is before Tannhaeuser’s eyes; the violins sweep to their highest register, and remain there boiling and dancing in a kind of divine fury; and in mad exaltation he chants his hymn to Venus.  Then the commotion occurs as I have described.

Let us consider this scene a moment.  For theatrical effect, in the best sense, it is in most respects one of the greatest Wagner wrote.  There is the pomp of the entry of the knights and ladies, and afterwards of the minstrels; the Landgrave’s music is effective, which is more than can be said for that usually allotted to the heavy father in an opera; the business of arranging the order in which the competitors shall stand up is accompanied by fragments of the graceful march—­or, rather, processional—­to which the minstrels had entered, and these come as a welcome preparation of the ear for the essential part of the scene.  Wolfram’s first effort, I say, I can hardly tolerate, considered as a piece of composition; yet, shortened, it would be admirably in place.  From the moment Tannhaeuser begins all is perfect.  Tannhaeuser’s music grows in intensity, and Wagner is careful not to give us a setback by allowing the other singers to throw Wolfram-ian cold douches over us; on the contrary, they get excited, too; and the orchestra is let loose with them by degrees, until in the last outburst it is blazing and crackling as though it had gone as completely mad as Tannhaeuser himself.  The whole thing, with the reservation I have made, must be admitted to be consummately managed from the composer’s as well as from the dramatist’s point of view.