leading to the Venus hill, and only when Wolfram renews his
questions does he vouchsafe him a brief account of his journey
to Rome. He tells how he trod the roughest roads barefooted,
how he journeyed through heat and cold, eschewing all comforts
and alleviation of his hard lot, how he knelt penitently before
every shrine, and how fervently he prayed for the forgiveness
of the sin which had darkened not only his life but that of
his beloved. Then, in faltering tones, he relates how the Pope
shrank from him upon hearing that he had sojourned for a year
in the Venus hill, and how sternly he declared there could be
no more hope of pardon for such a sin than to see his withered
staff blossom and bear leaves:--

'If thou hast shar'd the joys of Hell,
If thou unholy flames hast nurs'd
That in the hill of Venus dwell,
Thou art for evermore accurs'd!
And as this barren staff I hold
Ne'er will put forth a flower or leaf,
Thus shalt thou never more behold
Salvation or thy sin's relief.'

Tannhäuser now passionately describes his utter despair, after
hearing this awful verdict, his weary homeward journey, and
his firm determination, since he is utterly debarred from ever
seeing Elizabeth again, either in this world or in the next, to
hasten back to the hill of Venus, where he can at least deaden
his remorse with pleasure, and steep his sinful soul in sensual
love. In vain Wolfram pleads with him not to give up all hope
of ultimate salvation, and still to repent of his former sin;