Overture to “Tannhäuser”

“Ouvertüre zu "Tannhäuser"”

Published 1853

Overview

Wagner’s programme note for the Tannhäuser overture, written for a performance in Zurich after the orchestra asked him to explain its content. It describes the overture as a poetic sequence: the Pilgrims’ Chant, the night-time enchantments of the Venusberg, Tannhäuser’s song to Venus, and the dawn in which the pilgrims’ hymn and the redeemed music of the Venusberg unite soul and senses in hallowed love.

Background

A translator’s note explains that at the first Zurich rehearsal the orchestra asked Wagner for an explanation of the overture, as he had given for Beethoven’s Coriolan overture, so that they could play it better. The note appeared in the Neue Zeitschrift für Musik on 14 January 1853.

The Pilgrims and the Night

The overture opens with the Pilgrims’ Chant, which approaches, swells into a mighty outpouring and fades away at evening. As night falls, magical sights and sounds appear: a rosy mist, cries of joy and a wildly sensual dance. These are the seductions of the Venusberg, which reveal themselves at night to those whose hearts burn with the daring of the senses.

Tannhäuser and Venus

Tannhäuser, the minstrel of love, approaches and sings his jubilant Song of Love as a challenge to the enchantment. Wild shouts answer him, and amid perfumes and half-light he sees Venus herself and hears her promise to fulfil his wildest wishes. Burning with passion, he sings his song in her praise. The wonders of the Venusberg unfold, Bacchantes drag him into the goddess’s arms, and she carries him to the realm of Being-no-more. A rush like the Wild Hunt follows, then the storm dies down, leaving only a wanton stirring in the air as night returns.

Dawn and Redemption

At daybreak the Pilgrims’ Chant is heard again from afar. As it draws near and day drives back the night, the stirring in the air, which had sounded like the cries of damned souls, rises in ever more joyful waves. When the sun rises and the chant proclaims salvation to the world, this wave becomes the music of the Venusberg itself, freed from its curse and heard within the hymn to God. Soul and senses, God and Nature, are united in the atoning kiss of hallowed love.

Translated by William Ashton Ellis, Richard Wagner’s Prose Works, Vol. 3, pp. 229–231.

To begin with, the orchestra leads before us the Pilgrims' Chant alone; it draws near, then swells into a mighty outpour, and passes finally away.—Evenfall: last echo of the chant.—As night breaks, magic sights and sounds appear; a rosy mist floats up, exultant shouts assail our ear; the whirlings of a fearsomely voluptuous dance are seen. These are the "Venusberg's" seductive spells, that shew themselves at dead of night to those whose breast is fired by daring of the senses.—Attracted by the tempting show, a shapely human form draws nigh: 'tis Tannhäuser, Love's minstrel. He sounds his jubilant Song of Love in joyous challenge, as though to force the wanton witchery to do his bidding.—Wild cries of riot answer him: the rosy cloud grows denser round him, entrancing perfumes hem him in and steal away his senses. In the most seductive of half-lights, his wonder-seeing eye beholds a female form indicible; he hears a voice that sweetly murmurs out the siren-call, which promises contentment of the darer's wildest wishes. Venus herself it is, this woman who appears to him.—Then heart and senses burn within him; a fierce, devouring passion fires the blood in all his veins: with irresistible constraint it thrusts him nearer; before the Goddess' self he steps with that canticle of love triumphant, and now he sings it in ecstatic praise of her.—As though at wizard spell of his, the wonders of the Venusberg unroll their brightest fill before him: tumultuous shouts and savage cries of joy mount up on every hand; in drunken glee Bacchantes drive their raging dance and drag Tannhäuser to the warm caresses of Love's Goddess, who throws her glowing arms around the mortal drowned with bliss, and bears him where no step dare tread, to the realm of Being-no-more (Nichtmehrseins). A scurry, like the sound of the Wild Hunt, and speedily the storm is laid. Merely a wanton whir still pulses in the breeze, a wave of weird voluptuousness, like the sensuous breath of unblest love, still soughs above the spot where impious charms had shed their raptures, and over which the night now broods once more.—But dawn begins to break already: from afar is heard again the Pilgrims' Chant. As this chant draws closer yet and closer, as the day drives farther back the night, that whir and soughing of the air—which had erewhile sounded like the eerie cries of souls condemned—now rises, too, to ever gladder waves; so that when the sun ascends at last in splendour, and the Pilgrims' Chant proclaims in ecstasy to all the world, to all that lives and moves thereon, Salvation won, this wave itself swells out the tidings of sublimest joy. 'Tis the carol of the Venusberg itself, redeemed from curse of impiousness, this cry we hear amid the hymn of God. So wells and leaps each pulse of Life in chorus of Redemption; and both dissevered elements, both soul and senses, God and Nature, unite in the atoning kiss of hallowed Love.