Tannhäuser, A Catholic Masterpiece

Tannhäuser, A Catholic Masterpiece

I recently had the opportunity to attend part of Wagner’s opera Tannhäuser. Having entered knowing absolutely nothing about the work, I was able to be amazed in that way that is afforded only by first impressions.

The story is one that every faithful Christian man knows well, a battle against lust. The hero, Tannhäuser, has given himself over to the pagan goddess Venus, the demon of lust. He is something of a prisoner of his own device, living in continual revelries and orgies.

Coming to his senses, he realizes that he does not want to be damned, and asks Venus to release him. She refuses, until he cries out “Mein Heil ruht in Maria!” (My salvation lies in Mary!) and Venus is forced to release him.

Tanhäuser flees to a lovely valley where he prays in gratitude for his deliverance. He meets Elisabeth, a very pious and beautiful princess, and they fall in love. 

For her sake he goes to Rome to ask the Pope himself for forgiveness and on his journey to the Holy City, he puts on himself the greatest penances—barely eating or drinking, walking barefoot on rough land even when there were easier paths, and even sleeping in the snow and sludge.

At the end of his journey, the Pope denies him forgiveness, saying that as surely as his crosier will not sprout flowers, Tanhäuser will not be forgiven. Hearing that he will be surely damned, he faints. Waking up in St. Peter’s square, he decides that if he will go to Hell anyway, he might as well live with Venus for the rest of his life.

Elisabeth realizes that he has not been forgiven and dies of sadness, praying for Tanhäuser all the while. Nearby, Venus is accepting him back, when word comes from Rome: the Pope’s staff has flowered. Tanhäuser, now shown to be fully forgiven by God through the intercession of Elisabeth, is attacked by Venus’ minions and dies on Elisabeth’s funeral pyre.

While the work is musically fantastic, I was even more moved by it as a meditation on chastity. Tanhäuser is able, through the intercession of Our Lady and a holy friend, to break through the bonds of lust and die redeemed, at peace with God and fellow man.

The prayers of Elisabeth and the pilgrims alone are worth researching and, though from a fictional story, are, in truth, models of how we ought to love our neighbor:

Ich fleh’ für ihn, ich flehe für sein Leben!

Der Mut des Glaubens sei ihm neu gegeben,

dass auch für ihn einst der Erlöser litt!

I pray for him, I pray for his life!

May the spirit of belief he granted him anew

since for him, too, the Saviour suffered once! 

To the classical conoscenti and laymen alike I recommend this beautiful work on account of its singular fusion of the good and the beautiful. The combination of beauty and holiness is, by now, almost a relic of the bygone glory of the Christian West.

Thus, I urge the reader in two ways. In the first, I recommend listening to the work and following along with the English translation, but secondly, and perhaps more importantly, I urge the reader to do his part to create artwork which is beautiful and which will according to the true purpose of art, convey, until the end of time, Jesus’ love.