Tannhäuser : $b A story of all time

“But a moment’s thought is passion’s passing bell.” —KEATS, _Lamia_.

_In Venusberg._

Venus. Sweet, sweet are May and June, dear, The loves of lambent spring, Our lamp the drooping moon, dear, Our roof, the stars that sing; The bed, of moss and roses; The night, as long as death! Still, breath! Life wakens and reposes, Love ever quickeneth!

Sweet, sweet, when Lion and Maiden, The motley months of gold, Swoop down with sunlight laden, And eyes are bright and bold. Life-swelling breasts uncover Their warm involving deep— Love, sleep!— And lover lies with lover On air’s substantial steep.

Tannhäuser. Ah! sweeter was September— The amber rain of leaves, The harvest to remember, The load of sunny sheaves. In gardens deeply scented, In orchards heavily hung, Love flung Away the days demented With lips that curled and clung.

Ah! Sweeter still October, When russet leaves go grey, And sombre loves and sober Make twilight of the day. Dark dreams and shadows tenser Throb through the vital scroll, Man’s soul, Lift, shake the subtle censer That hides the cruel coal!

Still sweeter when the Bowman His silky shaft of frost Lets loose on earth, that no man May linger nor be lost. The barren woods, deserted, Lose echo of our sighs— Love—dies?— Love lives—in granite skirted, And under oaken skies.

But best is grim December, The Goatish God his power; The Satyr blows the ember, And pain is passion’s flower; When blood drips over kisses, And madness sobs through wine:— Ah, mine!— The snake starts up and hisses And strikes and—I am thine!

Venus. Those are thy true joys? Cruelty for love?

Tannhäuser. And death in kissing. How I have despised, Riding through meadows of the rushing Rhine, To watch the gentle foresters of spring Crush dainty violets in their dalliance, Laughing in chorus with the birds; and then (Coming at harvest time upon my tracks) See these same lovers in the golden sheaves Under the sun. The same, the fuller fruit, Say you? But somehow, nearer to the end, Lost the old sense of mystery, and lost That curious reverence in sacrilege With Wonder—the child’s faculty! Less joy, Less laughter, yes! that symptom I approve; Yet is that subtle fading-out of smiles Rather the coming of a dull despair, And not at all that keen despair, that sharp Maddening pain that should torment a man With deadliest delight, the self-same hour That he unveils the Isis of desire. These little lovers strip their maidens bare, And find them—naked! Poor and pitiful! Look at our love instead! I raised Thy veil, Nay, tore Thy vesture from Thee, and behold! Then only did I see what mystery, What ninefold forest, shade impassible, Surrounds Thy heart, as with a core of light Shut in the mystery of a dead world. Thou formless sense of gloom and terror! Thou Upas, new tree of life—by sinister Cherubim with averted faces kept! Nay! This one secret I suspect, and gloat Over the solemn purport of the dream With subtle shuddering of joy,—and that Keener delight, a sense of deadly fear! This secret: Thou art darkness in Thyself, And evil wrapped in light, and ugliness Vested in beauty! Therefore is my love No petty passion like these country-folk’s: No fertile glory (as the Love of God): But vast and barren as the winter sea, Holding I know not what enormous soul In its salt bitter bosom, underneath The iron waters and the serpent foam; Below, where sight and sound are set no more, But only the intolerable weight Of its own gloomy selfhood. This am I: This passion, lion-mouthed and adder-eyed. A mass compressed, a glowing central core, Like molten metal in the crucible! Death’s secret is some sweetness ultimate, Sweeter than poison. Ah! My very words, Chance phrases, ravel out the tale for me— Sweetness and death—poison and love. Consider How this same striving to the Infinite, Which I intend by “love,” is likest to That journey’s wonder to the womb of death: Because no soul of man has ever crossed Again that River—the old fable’s wrong; Æneas came never to the ghostly side! Was not the boat weighed with his body still? Felt he the keen emotions of the dead? Could he, the mortal and the warrior, Converse with Them, and understand? Believe! No soul has crossed in utter sympathy And yet returned; because of this decree: No man can look upon the face of God! Yet Moses looked upon His hinder parts, And I—yes, goddess! in this passionate Life in our secret mountain, well I know Thy beauty, and Thy love, (although they be Infinite, far beyond the mortal mind, Body, or soul to touch, to comprehend, And dwell in) that the utter intimate Knowledge of Thee, if once I ravelled out Thy secret, laid Thee naked to the bone— Nay, to the marrow! were to come, aware, Face to face full with deity itself. And this I strive at! Therefore is my love Wholly in tune with that concealed desire Bred in each mortal, though he never know, (Few do know) to transcend the bound of things, And find in Death the purpose of this life.

Venus. Yes, there you tear one veil away from me! Yet, am not I the willing one? Indeed I feel the wonder of that same desire From mine own side of the Impassible. See then how equal God and man are made! For I have clothed me in the veil of flesh, And strive toward thy finite consciousness As thou art reaching to my infinite, Nurturing my Godhead at the breast of Sin With milk of fleshly stings—even to pain:—

Tannhäuser. I see, I see the Christian mystery! That was the purpose of High God Himself, Clothed in the Christ! Ah! Triumphed He at last? Nay, not in death! The slave—He rose again! Alas! Alas!

Venus. Alas indeed, my knight! We love not! Being both enamoured of Just the one thing that is impossible. But in this carnal strife the Intimate Achieves for one snatched swiftness. Kiss me, love!

Tannhäuser. Ah, but the waking! As I sink to sleep Pillowed in nuptial arms—so fresh and cool— (Yet in their veins I know the fire that runs Racing and maddening from the crown of flame, The monolithic core of mystical Red fury that is called a woman’s heart) Sinking, I say, from the supreme embrace, The Good-night kisses; sinking into sleep— What dreams betoken the dread solitude?

Venus. What dreams? Ah, dreamest not of me, my knight? Of vast caresses that include all worlds? Of transmutation into molten steel Fusing with my intolerable gold In the red crucible of alchemy, That is—of clay?

Tannhäuser. I dream of no such thing. But of Thy likeness have I often seen The vast presentment—formless, palpable, Breathing. Not breathing as we use the word, When life and spirit mingle in one breath, Slay passion in one kiss—breathing, I say, Differently from Thee!

Venus. Explain, explain!

Tannhäuser. As if were kindled into gold and fire The East!

Venus. The East!

Tannhäuser. As if a flowerless moss Suddenly broke in passionate primroses!

Venus. Violets, violets!

Tannhäuser. Or as if a man Lay in the fairest garden of the world, In the beginning: and grew suddenly A living soul at that caressing wind!

Venus. A living soul!

Tannhäuser. So is Thy shade to me When sleep takes shape.

Venus. She is mine enemy Hate her, O hate her, she will slay thy soul!

Tannhäuser. And is my soul not slain within me now? Yet, I do hate her—in these waking hours. But in my sleep she grows upon the sense, A solitary lotus that pales forth In the wide seas of space and separateness. That radiance!—Amber-scented voice of light, Calling my name, ever, ever calling—

Venus. Answer that call—and thou art lost indeed! Wake thou thy spirit in this hateful sleep, Keeping the vision, rise, and spit on her!

Tannhäuser. Spit on Thy likeness? I who love Thee so?

Venus. Yes, yes: obey me! She will leave thee then. She hath assumed mine image! [_Thunder._

Tannhäuser. What is that?

Venus. Mere thunder on the mountain top. Do this, And I will come in sleep, in sleep renew The carnal joys of day.

Tannhäuser. Hast Thou forgot? It is the fleshly I would flee!

Venus. Forget? But I strive fleshwards. Let our sleep renew The endless struggle—and perhaps, for thee, For thee!—the veil may lift another fold.

Tannhäuser. Why dost Thou hate this vision?

Venus. She would take Thee from these arms!

Tannhäuser. But she is beautiful With Thine own beauty: yet as if the God Cancelled its mortal comeliness, and came More intimate than matter, closing in Keen on my spirit; as if all I sought In Thine own symbol, Beauty, were concealed Under her brows—how wider than the air! How deeper than the sea! How radiant Beyond the fire!

Venus. O shun her devilish lures! That Beauty is the sole detested fear That can annul our conquests, and arouse Our rapt dream-kisses.

Tannhäuser. That is my intent. It is the spiritual life of things I seek—Thou knowest!

Venus. Oh, I did not mean! Remember my dilemma! Hear me speak The story of her. She is a wicked witch That seeketh to delude thy sleepy sense In vicious purpose and malignant hope To ape my Godhead. [_Thunder._

Tannhäuser. Thunder rolls again. I am uneasy.

Venus. Heed it not at all! May not my servants of the elements Play children’s gambols on the mountain crest About our fortress? Leave this idle talk! Come, in this sweet abandonment of self— Come, with this kiss I seal thy loyal oath To spit upon her!

Tannhäuser. Ah, you murder me! [_Sings._

Come, love, and kiss my shoulders! Sleepy lies The tinted bosom whence its fire flies, The breathing life of thee, and swoons, and sighs, And dies! None but the dead can know the worth of love!

Come, love, thy bosom to my heart recalls Strange festivals and subtle funerals. Soft passion rises in the amber walls, And falls! None but the dead can breathe the life of love!

Come, love, thy lips, curved hollow as the moon’s! Bring me thy kisses, for the seawind tunes, The song that soars, and reads the starry runes, And swoons! None but the dead can tune the lyre of love!

Come, love, thy body serpentine and bright! What love is this, the heart of sombre light, Impossible, and therefore infinite? Sheer height! None but the dead can twine the limbs of love.

Come, love! My body in thy passion weeps Tears keen as dewfall’s, salter than the deep’s. My bosom! How its fortress wakes, and leaps, And sleeps! None but the dead can sleep the sleep of love!

Come, love, caress me with endearing eyes! Light the long rapture that nor fades nor flies! Love laughs and lingers, frenzies, stabs, and sighs, And dies! None but the dead can know the worth of love! [_Tannhäuser sleeps._

Venus. Sleep on, poor fool, and in thy sleep forlorn Defy the very beauty that thou seekest! Now is the solemn portal of the dusk Lifted; and in the gleaming silver-gray, The eastern sky, steps out the single One, Hathoör and Aphrodite—whom I mock! I may not follow in the dimness—I Chained unto matter by my evil will, Delight of death and carnal life. But see! He stirs, as one beholding in a dream Some deadly serpent or foul basilisk Sunning its scales, called kingly, in the mire. Strike, O my lover! I will drag thee down Into mine own unending pain and hate To be one devil more upon the earth.— Come! ye my serpents, wrap his bosom round With your entangling leprosy! And me, Let me assume the belovéd limber shape, The crested head, the jewelled eyes of death, And sinuous sinewy glitter of serpenthood, That I may look once more into his face, And, kissing, kill him! Thus to hold him fast, Drawing his human spirit into mine For strength, for life, for poison! Ah, my God! These pangs, these torments! See! the sleeper wakes! I am triumphant! For he reaches out The sleepy arms, and turns the drowsy head To catch the dew dissolving of my lip. Wake, lover, wake! Thy Venus waits for thee! Draw back, look, hunger!—and thy mouth is mine.

Tannhäuser. “Once I will shew Me waking. Destiny Adds one illusion to thee. Yet, Oh child! Yet will I not forsake thee; for thy soul, Its splendid self, hath known Me. Fare thee well.”

Venus. What are these strange and silly words? Awake! Wake and devour me with the dawn of love, The dragon to eclipse this moon of mine!

Tannhäuser. I sleep not. Those were Her mysterious words As faded the great vision. And I knew In some forgotten corner of my brain Some desperate truth.

Venus. Forget this foolishness! [_There cometh a shadow._ I am afraid, even I! What moves me thus?

Tannhäuser. I saw the mighty vision as before Forming in front of the awakening east, All permeated with the rose of dawn, And pale with delicate green light and shade, Marvellous! So, you say, she is a witch Seeking to rob or trick you of your power?

Venus. I say so? No! I dare not! Oh forbear!

Tannhäuser. (_starts up_) There, there She comes in waking! Hail to Thee! I am afraid, I also, I myself! Help! lover, Venus, mistress of my life! I cannot bear the glory of the gaze. No man shall look upon the face of God! Where art thou? Save me from the scorpion! I am—alone!

HATHOÖR. Light, Truth, arise, arise!

Tannhäuser. I see—I see! All blinded by the Light— Thou art the Way, the Truth, the Life, the Love! Thou, Whom I sought through ages of deep sleep Forgotten when I died. There is no death: Change alternating; and forgetfulness Of one state in the other—easy truth I could not understand! Oh hear me, hear! Spare me the last illusion!—She is gone!

Venus. Save me, my knight! To thy sufficing arms I cling in this distress of womanhood!

Tannhäuser. Kiss me the last time.

Venus. Whom have I but thee, Thee in the ages? Barren were my bliss And shorn my Godhead of eternal joy, Barred from thy kiss.

Tannhäuser. Call not thyself again Goddess. I saw thee in the Presence there. The scales are fallen, and mine eyes see clear.

Venus. Then you would leave me? Serpent if I were, My coils should press in dolorous delight Thy straining bosom, and my kiss were death! Death! Dost thou live, Tannhäuser? Sayest thou still: “None but the dead can know the worth of love!”?

Tannhäuser. Still. I am not in any sense estranged. I yearn for thee in the first hour of spring, As in the dying days of autumn. I Would clasp thee, as a child its mother’s throat, Drinking celestial wine from that dear mouth, Or with goodwill see poison in thy smile, And die, still kissing thee, and kissed again! This, though I saw thee crawl upon the earth, Howl at Her presence Whom thou wouldest ape, Thy tale reversed. I read that thunder now! This, though I know thee. Aphrodite, no! Nor Anael, nor Eva! Rather thou Lilith, the woman-serpent, she who sucks The breath of little children in their sleep, Strangles young maidens, and presides upon Sterile debauchery and unnatural loves.

Venus. Lilith! Ah lover! Thou hast known my name!

Tannhäuser. So; yet I love thee! Rended is the veil! Calling thee Ugliness, I guessed aright, Who saw, and see, all Beauty in thee still. Only, a beauty risen out of Hell; Death and delusion—ay, corruption’s self, Wickedness sliming into impotence, Pleasure in putrefaction. But, in sleep, I will put off that evil as a clout Cast by a beggar.

Venus. And the sore is left.

Tannhäuser. Oh, but this body, very consciousness! I banish both. I cross the crimson wall— My spirit shall reach up to and attain That other.

Venus. So Persephone must hold Thy life divided in Her dark domain.

Tannhäuser. Already I have tasted once of this In its own lesser way. Ten years ago I loved a maiden called Elizabeth. A child she was, so delicate and frail, Far, white, and lonely as the coldest star Set beyond gaze of any eye but God’s; And, to forget her, found due somnolence In such a warm brown bosom as thine own Is fire and amber. Then I came away:— I heard of knights no better horsed than I, No better sworded, with no gift of song, Who, caught by one ineffable desire, Rode on by old mysterious watersheds, Traversed strange seas, or battled with strange folk, Held vigil in wild forests, all to seek The vision of the Holy Grail. And I Rode forth on that same foolish wandering; And found a-many ventures on the way; At last an old Egyptian; who bestowed The magic word, which, when I had pronounced, Called up thine evil corpse-light in the sky. He riddled me—ah God! I see it now! The bloody winepress? The ascending sun? Thy dawning beauty and thine evil bed! The double meaning! I had evil thoughts When I pronounced it—else had She Herself, Hathoör or Mary, risen. Misery! Incessant mystery of the search for Truth!

Venus. Search out my mystery a little while!

Tannhäuser. There is a flush of passion in thine eyes, An hunger in them; fascinate me now, My serpent-woman, drawing out my breath Into thy life, and mingling that in mine! See the rich blood that mantles to my touch, Invites the tooth to bite the shimmering skin, Till I could watch the ripe red venom flow Slow on the hills of amber, staining them Its own warm purple. Look, the tender stream!

Venus. Let its old sleepy fragrance lull thee now, Yet madden thee in brain and sense and soul, Mixing success with infinite despair. So; take our secret back to sleep with us:— And in that sleep I know that thou wilt choose The fact, and leave the dream, and so disdain These far-off splendours, catch the nearer joy, Take squalid kisses, banish crested love Intangible. Delights it thee, my friend, To reach the summits unattained before, And stumble on their snows? Thine old desire Was just to touch the mere impalpable. To formulate the formless. Otherwise Christ did as well—thine own words turn again!

Tannhäuser. Ah, if pure love could grow material! There are pure women!

Venus. There you make me laugh! Remember—I have known such. But besides You ask hot snow and leaden feather-flights!

Tannhäuser. And you—you keep me worrying, fair queen, In logic and its meshes, when to-day I rather would be caught in other nets, The burning gold and glory of your hair, Lightning and sunshine, storm and radiance, Your flaming pell!

Venus. Come, sing to me again! That we may watch each other as you sing; Feel how it overmasters and o’erwhelms, The growing pang of hunger for a kiss!

Tannhäuser. Brood evil, then, in your amazing eyes, That I may see the serpent grow in you; As I were just the bird upon the bough— So let the twittering grow faint and still, And let me fall, fall into the abyss, Your arms—a culminating ecstasy, Darkness and death and rapture. Sing to you? What song? My tunes are played upon too oft. My first great cry of love inaudible Sapped me of music.

Venus. Sing me that again!

Tannhäuser. Who is this maiden robéd for a bride, White shoulders and bright brows adorable, The flaming locks that clothe her, and abide, As God were bathing in the fire of Hell? They change, they grow, they shake As sunlight on the lake: They hiss, they glisten on her bosom bare. O maiden, maiden queen! The lightning flows between Thy mounting breasts, too magically fair. Draw me, O draw me to a dreaming death! Send out thine opiate breath, And lull me to the everlasting sleep, That, closing from the kisses of disdain To ecstasy of pain, I may sob out my life into their dangerous deep. Who cometh from the mountain as a tower Stalwart and set against the fiery foes? Who, breathing as a jasmine-laden bower? Who, crowned and lissome as a living rose? Sharp thorns in thee are set; In me, in me beget The dolorous despair of this desire. Thy body sways and swings Above the tide of things, Laps me as ocean, wraps me round as fire! Ye elemental sorceries of song, Surge, strenuous and strong, Seeking dead dreams, the secret of the shrine; So that she drain my life and being up As from a golden cup, To mingle in her blood, death’s kiss incarnadine.

Who cometh from the ocean as a flower? Who blossometh above the barren sea? Thy lotus set beneath thee for a bower, Thine eyes awakened, lightened, fallen on me? O Goddess, queen, and wife! O Lady of my life! Who set thy stature as a wood to wave? Whose love begat thy limbs? Whose wave-washed body swims That nurtured thee, and found herself a grave? But thou, O thou, hast risen from the deep! All mortals mourn and weep To see thee, seeing that all love must die Beside thy beauty, see thee and despair! Deadly as thou art fair, I cry for all mankind—they are slain, even as I!

[_Tannhäuser pauses, bends eagerly towards Venus. She smiling luxuriously, he continues._

Who cometh wanton, with long arms outspread? Who cometh with lascivious lips aflame? Whose eyes invite me to the nakéd bed Stark open to the sun, dear pride of shame? Whose face draws close and near, Filling the soul with fear, Till nameless shudders course in every limb? Whose breath is quick and fierce? Whose teeth are keen to pierce The arms that clasp her? Whose the eyes that swim For dear and delicate delight? And whose The lips that halt and choose The very centre of my mouth, and meet In one supreme and conquering kiss, and cleave Unto the wound they leave, Bringing all heart’s blood to one house, too sore and sweet? Who rageth as a lioness bereaved, If, for a moment’s breathing space, I move Back from the purple where her bosom heaved, Back from the chosen body that I love? Whose lips cling faster still In desperate sweet will? Whose body melts as fire caught in wine Into the clasping soul? Whose breathing breasts control Her heart’s quick pulsing, and the sob of mine? O Venus, lady Venus, thou it is Whose fierce immortal kiss Abides upon me, about me, and within! Thou, lady of the secret of the Sea, Made one for love with me, Love and desire and dream, a sense of mortal sin!

Who cometh as a visionary shape Within my soul and spirit to abide, Mysterious labyrinth without escape, Magical lover, and enchanted bride? O Mother of my will! Set thy live body still Unto my heart, that even Eternity Roll by our barren bed— That even the quick and dead, Being mortal, mix in our eternal sea! Distil we love from all the universe! Defy the early curse! Bid thorns and thistles mingle in delight! And from the athanor of death and pain Bring golden showers of rain To crown our bed withal, the empire of the Night!

O Wife! Incarnate Beauty self-create! O Life! O Death! Love unimaginable! Despair grows hope, as hope grows desperate; And Heaven bridges the great gulf of Hell. Thy life is met with mine, Transmuted, grown divine, Even in this, the evil of the world! What agony is this, The first undying kiss From jewelled eyes and lips in passion curled? O sister and O serpent and O mate, Strike the red fang of hate Steady and strong, persistent to the heart! So shall this song be made more terrible With the soul-mastering spell, Choke, stagger, know the Evil, Beauty’s counterpart!

Whose long-drawn curse runs venom in my veins? What dragon spouse consumes me with her breath? What passionate hatred, what infernal pains, Mixed with thy being in the womb of Death? Blistering fire runs, Scorching, terrific suns, Through body and soul in this abominable Marriage of demon power Subtle and strong and sour, A draught of ichor of the veins of Hell! Curses leap leprous, epicene, unclean, The soul of the Obscene Incarnate in the spirit: and above Hangs Sin, vast vampire, the corrupt, that swings Her unredeeming wings Over the world, and flaps for lust of Death—and Love!

Venus. This man was drained of music! Five new songs Chase the three ancient to oblivion! Oh! Love is grown fury!

Tannhäuser. Kill me!

Venus. In the kiss. [_Tannhäuser sleeps._