Tannhäuser

All the blind horror of the song recedes. There is a sequel ; is there not, my friend ? Of love, your theme, we have not heard a note. Tannhauser. That is a question. I am not so sure My song was not entirely to that end. Wolfram. Yes, poet, true one that you are indeed! You shew us the dilemma of the soul, The Gordian knot Love only hews asunder. Tannhauser. Or—shall I say ?—soothes only, bandages, Not heals the sore of Destiny ? Wolfram. No, certes. But substitutes for one reality Another —and a lovely pleasant one. Tannhauser. Existence is illusion after all ; Man, a bad joke ; and God, mere epigram I If we must come to that. And likewise love, p 11^