[Illustration: THE WARTBURG] TANNHAEUSER, THE MINSTREL KNIGHT I This is a tale of long ago. It is a tale of the days of knighthood and minstrelsy; of the days when field and forest rang with the clash of arms, and baronial halls echoed with the sound of harp and voice; when brave knights vied with one another not only in jousts and tourneys at arms, but in tournaments of song as well. In those strange days a majestic castle, called the Wartburg, stood on a lofty peak overlooking the green and peaceful valleys of Thuringia. The Landgrave Herman and his niece, the beautiful Princess Elizabeth, lived there, and they were attended by a splendid court of nobles, knights, and fair ladies. The Wartburg was the scene of many gay festivals. Time and again the good people of Thuringia would gather from near and far to watch gallant, armor-clad knights ride out with lance and spear to mimic warfare. But more often they would gather within the great castle hall to listen to the melodies of well-tuned harps and sweet-voiced singers in tournaments of song. The white hand of the beautiful Princess placed the laurel wreath of victory most often upon the brow of one bold young Minstrel Knight, Tannhaeuser by name. His was the rarest gift of poetry, his the sweetest voice. Nor was any one more beloved than he. His prowess in battle, his skill with lance and spear, his fearless eye, had made him a favorite of the Landgrave; while his noble bearing, the light touch of his fingers upon the harp strings, and his clear young voice had won the heart of the proud Princess. But Tannhaeuser, unmindful of these great gifts of fortune, had, in a rash moment, quarreled with his companions. Angry beyond reason, forgetful of both friendship and love, he had cast himself away from the Wartburg, and had sought the solace of solitude. Opposite the Wartburg, black and foreboding against the blue of the sky, like a giant of old, towered a mountain, the Horselburg. And thither, sad to relate, the footsteps of the errant Minstrel Knight led the way. Now, it seems that when Venus, the Goddess of Love, was banished from the earth, she hid herself away from the eyes of all righteous men, deep within the heart of that very mountain, the Horselburg. Brooding over her fancied wrongs, she lived there and plotted evil against mankind. Her domain was a wonderful cave, all shadows and mystery; and her subjects were strange creatures of the underworld. And, the story went, from a couch of gold where she sat arrayed in richest garments, she lured guileless wanderers through an unseen portal in the mountain side, straight into her kingdom. And while her siren voice cast its spell, while her fatal beauty wove its charm, the poor wanderer was powerless. He followed, and followed, forever and a day, and knew not where. But the face of the earth saw him no more.