Tannhäuser, 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 Tannhäuser, 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,—
And with one accord they drew their swords and pressed upon Tannhäuser to slay him. But at that instant a white figure with trailing draperies rushed toward them. She threw herself before Tannhäuser, shielding him with her body. It was Elizabeth, the Princess.