Do you wonder, with such a story abroad, that the Horselburg was shunned by old and young? But what cared the bold Minstrel Knight for strange goddesses or their powers? Tannhaeuser was clad in all the trappings of knighthood; he had his armor, his lance; the harp of his minstrelsy hung by his side. So he came to the foot of the Horselburg, dreamily, heedlessly, but unafraid. Still, as he paused to rest beneath an over-hanging rock at the mouth of a cave, he fancied that he heard the sound of rushing water. He started, looking both to the right and to the left. There was no water to be seen. A moment later the faint tinkle of bells fell upon his ear; then the echo of a distant melody followed. He arose and peered into the cave. His venturesome spirit prompted him to take one step forward,--then another. Through the shadows he detected the glimmer of many lights, now red, now violet, now blue. What was the rosy haze that enveloped him? And the faint music that drew him on and on? A delicate odor assailed his nostrils. A delicious languor overcame him. "Where am I?" he called. But the only answer was the clang as of a closing door, and the sound of a rippling laugh. A moment later, led by unseen magic, blinded by light and overpowered by sound, he stumbled into a region of enchantment, into the presence of Venus herself. A fascinating, bewitching goddess was Venus, and Tannhaeuser lingered at her feet for a long time. Her magic drew a veil before his eyes, which blinded and enthralled him. And he mistook the mocking cruelty of her face for beauty and the lure of her glance for kindness and love. So he played upon his harp and sang marvelous new songs to her and knelt before her to pay her homage. He forgot all about the past, his knighthood, his minstrelsy, his home, his friends. He even forgot his God. Nymphs danced before him, elfin creatures made music for him, strange flowers delighted his eyes, and all was an unceasing round of pleasure day after day. There was no sun to shine, no moon, no stars. Spring never came, nor winter. It was all as though the world had never been. Still there came a day at last when Tannhaeuser awoke. He awoke as if from a dream. For a sound had pierced the very rocks and reached his ears. It was the chime of distant church bells. Tannhaeuser ran his hand across his forehead and staggered to his feet. He remembered. With the remembrance came a loathing and a longing that were pain. He hated the perfume-laden mists about him, the strange flowers, and the nymphs with their songs and endless whirling dances. He longed for a breath of pure woodland air, for the sight of rain-freshened grass, for the sound of the lark's song at dawn. So he seized his harp and sang to Venus and begged her to let him go back to earth. "Oh, goddess," he implored, "let me go."