So there was a grotto of Venus in the flanks of the Horselberg! But then the country of Tannhäuser had retained the whole of its terrible legend.
The grotto of the Goddess was really there. And the man was there too.
It was small, elliptical at the top, crowned with fine dark briars, and appeared as the necessary symbol of the mountain, as another justification of the old German tale still more striking than the carnal aspect of the Venusberg on the horizon. The interior, into which I gazed, was dark, narrow and low. Pools of water and dark recesses made up its dark floor. It was difficult to enter without becoming mud-stained, but some incomprehensible charm attracted me into the humid darkness.
“Where are you going?” the man said shortly.
“To the bottom of the grotto.”
“To the bottom of the grotto? But there is no bottom to it, sir. It is the mouth of the earth.”
“Good,” I said patiently. “I will not go far. I shall soon return.”
His hollow cheeks grew purple. He hit his stick with his fist.
“Ah! you will soon be back! Ha! ha! you think you can go in and out of there at will. Do you think this grotto is a lift or a geological curiosity? Are you a Cook’s tourist, or do you come from a natural history museum? Have you come to write your name upon the rock, or to gather stones for your collection? You think you are about to discover here subterranean lakes, blind fish, architectural stalactites and rocky arches covered with crystals! You are going to study the geology of the Venushoehle. Ha! ha! that is admirable! Are you, too, a madman like the others? You, also, do not understand. You then are not aware that Venus is there in the flesh with millions of her nymphs around her and they are more living than you are, since they are immortal.”
“Sir,” I said, “I believe what you tell me; but you very much misjudge me if you think that the presence of Venus will prevent me from entering here.”