er echoes, and the
chorus chants solemnly "Der Seele Heil," etc. "Henry, thou art
redeemed," cries Wolfram; and then we have the final scene, the entry
of the young penitents with the pope's staff. The final chorus is
effective enough, though it suggests the audience getting up and
looking for their hats.

As a whole, the music of _Tannhaeuser_ is characterized by intense
energy, the greatest definiteness, and richness and gorgeousness of
colouring. Inviting as must have been the opportunities offered in the
opening scene of indulging in a riot of voluptuous colour, the
definiteness is never lost. Through the whirling, dancing-mad
accompaniment runs a fibre of strong, clean-cut, sinewy melody. The
picture is drawn with firm strokes as well as painted with a full
brush. Or perhaps the better analogy would be to describe each scene
as an architecturally constructed fabric; and each is also so
constructed as to lead inevitably into the next. Hence, as already
pointed out, the artistic restraint and breadth in scenes where, with
such heat of passion at work, we might fear spasmodic jerkiness.

When _Tannhaeuser_ was published, Wagner sent the score to Schumann,
and Mendelssohn also saw it. The comment of the latter was
characteristic: he liked a canon entry in the finale of the second
act; and indeed it was too much to hope that the successful purveyor
of oratorios should like or in the least understand so mighty, fresh
and passionate an opera. He did not understand Beethoven, and
virtually admitted as much without realizing how completely he had
committed himself. Moreover, opera was a form of art with which he had
no real sympathy. It is true his friend Devrient tells us that he was
anxious to write one, and would have done so had not his fastidious
taste prevented him ever finding a libretto to his liking--which is
equivalent to saying a man would have painted a fine picture could he
only have secured a good subject. In some respects Schumann was even
more antipathetic. Wagner, all who knew him declare, never ceased
talking; Schumann was a silent man--sometimes in a cafe a friend might
speak to him: Schumann would turn his back to the friend and his face
to the wall, and continue to imbibe lager. Wagner would talk for an
hour, and, getting no response, go away; he would afterwards declare
Schumann an "impossible" man, out of whom not a word could be got;
while Schumann would declare he could not tolerate Wagner, "his t