FALSTAFF.

"Falstaff," an opera in three acts, words by Arrigo Boito, was first performed March 12, 1893, at the Teatro alla Scala, Milan, with the following cast of characters:—

Mistress FORD Signora ZILLI NANNETTA Madame STEHLE FENTON M. GARBIN Dr. CAIUS Signor PAROLI PISTOLA Signor ARIMONDI Mistress PAGE Signora GUERRINI Mistress QUICKLY Signora PASQUA FORD Signor PINI-CORSI BARDOLFO Signor PELAGALLI-ROSSETTI FALSTAFF M. MAUREL

The libretto, which is mainly based upon "The Merry Wives of Windsor," also makes some contributions upon "Henry IV.," particularly in the introduction of the monologue upon honor, and illustrates Boito's skill in adaptation as well as his remarkable powers in condensation. In the arrangement of the comedy the five acts are reduced to three. The characters Shallow, Slender, William, Page, Sir Hugh Evans, Simple, and Rugby are eliminated, leaving Falstaff, Fenton, Ford, Dr. Caius, Bardolph, Pistol, Mistress Ford, Mistress Page, Anne, Dame Quickly and three minor characters as the dramatis personae, though Anne appears as Nannetta and is the daughter of Ford instead of Page.

The first act opens with a scene at the Garter Inn, disclosing an interview between Falstaff and Dr. Caius, who is complaining of the ill treatment he has received from the fat Knight and his followers, but without obtaining any satisfaction. After his departure, Falstaff seeks to induce Bardolph and Pistol to carry his love-letters to Mistresses Ford and Page; but they refuse, upon the ground that their honor would be assailed, which gives occasion for the introduction of the monologue from "Henry IV." The letters are finally intrusted to a page, and the remainder of the act is devoted to the plots of the women to circumvent him, with an incidental revelation of the loves of Fenton and Nannetta, or Anne Page. In the second act, we have Falstaff's visit to Mistress Ford, as planned by the merry wives, the comical episode of his concealment in the buck-basket, and his dumping into the Thames. In the last act, undaunted by his buck-basket experiences, Falstaff accepts a fresh invitation to meet Mistress Ford in Windsor Park. In this episode occurs the fairy masquerade at Herne's Oak, in the midst of which he is set upon and beaten, ending in his complete discomfiture. Then all is explained to him; Nannetta is betrothed to Fenton; and all ends merry as a marriage bell.

There is no overture. After four bars of prelude the curtain rises, and the composer introduces Dr. Caius with the single exclamation, "Falstaff," and the latter's reply, "Ho! there," which are emblematic of the declamatory character of the whole opera; for although many delightful bits of melody are scattered through it, the instrumentation really tells the story, as in the Wagner music-drama, though in this latest work of the veteran composer there is less of the Wagnerian idea than in his "Aida." The first scene is mainly humorous dialogue, but there are two notable exceptions,—the genuine lyrical music of Falstaff's song ("'Tis she with eyes like stars"), and the Honor monologue, a superb piece of recitative with a characteristic accompaniment in which the clarinets and bassoons fairly talk, as they give the negative to the Knight's sarcastic questions. The most attractive numbers of the second scene are Mistress Ford's reading of Falstaff's letter, which is exquisitely lyrical, a quartet, a capella, for the four women ("He'll surely come courting"), followed by a contrasting male quartet ("He's a foul, a ribald thief"), the act closing with the two quartets offsetting each other, and enclosing an admirable solo for Fenton.

The second act opens with the interview between Dame Quickly and Falstaff, in which the instrumentation runs the whole gamut of ironical humor. Then follows the scene between Ford and Falstaff, in which the very clink of the money, and Falstaff's huge chuckles, are deliberately set forth in the orchestra with a realism which is the very height of the ridiculous, the scene closing with an expressive declamation by Ford ("Do I dream? Or, is it reality?"). The second scene of the act is mainly devoted to the ludicrous incident of the buck-basket, which is accompanied by most remarkable instrumentation; but there are one or more captivating episodes; such as Dame Quickly's description of her visit ("'Twas at the Garter Inn") and Falstaff's charming song ("Once I was Page to the Duke of Norfolk").

The third act opens in the Inn of the Garter, and discloses Falstaff soliloquizing upon his late disagreeable experiences:—

"Ho! landlord! Ungrateful world, wicked world, Guilty world! Landlord! a glass of hot sherry. Go, go thy way, John Falstaff, With thee will cease the type Of honesty, virtue, and might."

As the fat Knight soliloquizes and drinks his sack the orchestra takes part in a trill given out by piccolo, and gradually taken by one instrument after the other, until the whole orchestra is in a hearty laugh and shaking with string, brass, and wood wind glee. Then enters Dame Quickly, mischief-maker, and sets the trap at Herne's Oak in Windsor Forest, into which Falstaff readily falls. The closing scene is rich with humor. It opens with a delightful love-song by Fenton ("From those sweet lips a song of love arises"). The conspirators enter one after the other, and at last Falstaff, disguised as the sable hunter. The elves are summoned, and glide about to the delicious fairy music accompanying Nannetta's beautiful song ("While we dance in the moonlight"). From this point the action hastens to the happy denouement, and the work concludes with a fugue which is imbued with the very spirit of humor and yet is strictly constructed. While the vocal parts are extraordinary in their declamatory significance, the strength of the opera lies in the instrumentation, and its charm in the delicious fun and merriment which pervades it all and is aptly expressed in the closing lines:—

"All in this world is jesting. Man is born to be jolly, E'en from grief some happiness wresting Sure proof against melancholy."



WAGNER.

Richard Wagner, who has been somewhat ironically called the musician of the future, and whose music has been relegated to posterity by a considerable number of his contemporaries, was born at Leipsic, May 22, 1813. After his preliminary studies in Dresden and Leipsic, he took his first lessons in music from Cantor Weinlig. In 1836 he was appointed musical director in the theatre at Magdeburg, and later occupied the same position at Koenigsberg. Thence he went to Riga, where he began his opera "Rienzi." He then went to Paris by sea, was nearly shipwrecked on his way thither, and landed without money or friends. After two years of hard struggling he returned to Germany. His shipwreck and forlorn condition inspired the theme of "The Flying Dutchman," and while on his way to Dresden he passed near the castle of Wartburg, in the valley of Thuringia, whose legends inspired his well-known opera of "Tannhaeuser." He next removed to Zurich, and about this time appeared "Lohengrin," one of his most favorite operas. "Tristan and Isolde" was produced in 1856, and his comic opera, "Die Meistersinger von Nuernberg," three years later. In 1864 he received the patronage of King Louis of Bavaria, which enabled him to complete and perform his great work, "Der Ring der Nibelungen." He laid the foundation of the new theatre at Baireuth in 1872, and in 1875 the work was produced, and created a profound sensation all over the musical world. "Parsifal," his last opera, was first performed in 1882. His works have aroused great opposition, especially among conservative musicians, for the reason that he has set at defiance the conventional operatic forms, and in carrying out his theory of making the musical and dramatic elements of equal importance, and employing the former as the language of the latter in natural ways, has made musical declamation take the place of set melody, and swept away the customary arias, duets, quartets, and concerted numbers of the Italian school, to suit the dramatic exigencies of the situations. Besides his musical compositions, he enjoys almost equal fame as a litterateur, having written not only his own librettos, but four important works,—"Art and the Revolution," "The Art Work of the Future," "Opera and Drama," and "Judaism in Music." His music has made steady progress through the efforts of such advocates as Liszt, Von Buelow, and Richter in Germany, Pasdeloup in France, Hueffer in England, and Theodore Thomas in the United States. In 1870 he married Frau Cosima von Buelow, the daughter of Liszt,—an event which provoked almost as much comment in social circles as his operas have in musical. He died during a visit to Venice, Feb. 13, 1883.

RIENZI.

"Rienzi der letzte der Tribunen," a tragic opera in five acts, words by the composer, the subject taken from Bulwer's novel, "The Last of the Tribunes," was first produced at Dresden, Oct. 20, 1842, with Herr Tichatscheck, Mme. Schroeder-Devrient, and Mlle. Wiest in the principal roles. It was designed and partly completed during Wagner's stay in Riga as orchestra leader. In his Autobiography the composer says that he first read the story at Dresden in 1837, and was greatly impressed with its adaptability for opera. He began it in the fall of the same year at Riga, and says: "I had composed two numbers of it, when I found, to my annoyance, that I was again fairly on the way to the composition of music a la Adam. I put the work aside in disgust." Later he projected the scheme of a great tragic opera in five acts, and began upon it with fresh enthusiasm in the fall of 1838. By the spring of 1839 the first two acts were completed. At that time his engagement at Riga terminated, and he set out for Paris. He soon found that it would be hopeless for him to bring out the opera in that city, notwithstanding Meyerbeer had promised to assist him. He offered it to the Grand Opera and to the Renaissance, but neither would accept it. Nothing daunted, he resumed work upon it, intending it for Dresden. In October, 1842, it was at last produced in that city, and met with such success that it secured him the position of capellmeister at the Dresden opera-house.

The action of the opera passes at Rome, towards the middle of the fourteenth century. The first act opens at night, in a street near the Church of St. John Lateran, and discovers Orsini, a Roman patrician, accompanied by a crowd of nobles, attempting to abduct Irene, the sister of Rienzi, a papal notary. The plot is interrupted by the entrance of Colonna, the patrician leader of another faction, who demands the girl. A quarrel ensues. Adriano, the son of Colonna, who is in love with Irene, suddenly appears and rushes to her defence. Gradually other patricians and plebeians are attracted by the tumult, among the latter, Rienzi. When he becomes aware of the insult offered his sister, he takes counsel with the Cardinal Raimondo, and they agree to rouse the people in resistance to the outrages of the nobles. Adriano is placed in an embarrassing position,—his relationship to the Colonnas urging him to join the nobles, and his love for Irene impelling him with still stronger force to make common cause with the people. He finally decides to follow Rienzi, just as the trumpets are heard calling the people to arms and Rienzi clad in full armor makes his appearance to lead them.

The struggle is a short one. The nobles are overcome, and in the second act they appear at the Capitol to acknowledge their submission to Rienzi: but Adriano, who has been among them, warns Rienzi that they have plotted to kill him. Festal dances, processions, and gladiatorial combats follow, in the midst of which Orsini rushes at Rienzi and strikes at him with his dagger. Rienzi is saved by a steel breastplate under his robes. The nobles are at once seized and condemned to death. Adriano pleads with Rienzi to spare his father, and moved by his eloquence he renews the offer of pardon if they will swear submission. They take the oath only to violate it. The people rise and demand their extermination. Rienzi once more draws the sword, and Adriano in vain appeals to him to avert the slaughter. He is again successful, and on his return announces to Adriano that the Colonnas and Orsinis are no more. The latter warns him of coming revenge, and the act closes with the coronation of Rienzi.

The fourth act opens at night near the church. The popular tide has now turned against Rienzi, upon the report that he is in league with the German Emperor to restore the pontiff. A festive cortege approaches, escorting him to the church. The nobles bar his way, but disperse at his command; whereupon Adriano rushes at him with drawn dagger, but the blow is averted as he hears the chant of malediction in the church, and sees its dignitaries placing the ban of excommunication against Rienzi upon its doors. He hurries to Irene, warns her that her brother's life is no longer safe, and urges her to fly with him. She repulses him, and seeks her brother, to share his dangers or die with him. She finds him at prayer in the Capitol. He counsels her to accept the offer of Adriano and save herself, but she repeats her determination to die with him. The sounds of the approaching crowd are heard outside. Rienzi makes a last appeal to them from the balcony, but the infuriated people will not listen. They set fire to the Capitol with their torches, and stone Rienzi and Irene through the windows. As the flames spread from room to room and Adriano beholds them enveloping the devoted pair, he throws away his sword, rushes into the burning building, and perishes with them.

The overture of "Rienzi" is in the accepted form, for the opera was written before Wagner had made his new departure in music, and takes its principal themes, notably Rienzi's prayer for the people and the finale to the first act, from the body of the work. The general style of the whole work is vigorous and tumultuous. The first act opens with a hurly-burly of tumult between the contending factions and the people. The first scene contains a vigorous aria for the hero ("Wohl an so moeg es sein"), which leads up to a fiery terzetto ("Adriano du? Wie ein Colonna!") between Rienzi, Irene, and Adriano, followed by an intensely passionate scene ("Er geht und laesst dich meinem Schutz") between the last two. The finale is a tumultuous mass of sound, through which are heard the tones of trumpets and cries of the people. It opens with a massive double chorus ("Gegruesst, gegruesst"), shouted by the people on the one side and the monks in the Lateran on the other, accompanied by an andante movement on the organ. It is interrupted for a brief space by the ringing appeal of Rienzi "Erstehe, hohe Roma, neu," and then closes with an energetic andante, a quartet joining the choruses. This finale is clearly Italian in form, and much to Wagner's subsequent disgust was described by Hanslick as a mixture of Donizetti and Meyerbeer, and a clear presage of the coming Verdi.

The second act opens with a stately march, introducing the messengers of peace, who join in a chorus of greeting, followed by a second chorus of senators and the tender of submission made by the nobles. A terzetto between Adriano, Orsini, and Colonna, set off against a chorus of the nobles, leads up to the finale. It opens with a joyful chorus ("Erschallet feier Klaenge"), followed by rapid dialogue between Orsini and Colonna on the one hand and Adriano and Rienzi on the other. A long and elaborate ballet intervenes, divided into several numbers,—an Introduction, Pyrrhic Dance, Combat of Roman Gladiators and Cavaliers, and the Dance of the Apotheosis, in which the Goddess of Peace is transformed to the Goddess, protector of Rome. The scene abruptly changes, and the act closes with a great ensemble in which the defiance of the conspirators, the tolling of bells, the chants of the monks, and the ferocious outcries of the people shouting for revenge are mingled in strong contrasts.

The third act is full of tumult. After a brief prelude, amid the ringing of bells and cries of alarm, the people gather and denounce the treachery of the nobles, leading up to a spirited call to arms by Rienzi ("Ihr Roemer, auf"). The people respond in furious chorus, and as the sound of the bells and battle-cries dies away Adriano enters. His scene opens with a prayer ("Gerechter Gott") for the aversion of carnage, which changes to an agitated allegro ("Wo war ich?") as he hears the great bell of the Capitol tolling the signal for slaughter. The finale begins with a massive march, as the bells and sounds of alarm are heard approaching again, and bands of citizens, priests and monks, the high clergy, senators and nobles, pass and repass in quick succession, at last followed by Rienzi, which is the signal for the great battle-hymn, "Santo spirito cavaliere," which is to be sung with great fire and energy, accompanied by great and small bells ringing behind the scenes, the clash of swords upon shields, and full power of chorus and orchestra. A dialogue follows between Adriano and Rienzi, and then the various bands disappear singing the ritornelle of the hymn. A great duet ("Lebwohl, Irene") ensues between Adriano and Irene, which in its general outlines reminds one of the duet between Raoul and Valentin in "The Huguenots." At its conclusion, after a prayer by the chorus of women, the battle hymn is heard again in the distance, gradually approaching, and the act closes with a jubilee chorus ("Auf! im Triumpf zum Capitol"), welcoming the return of the conquerors.

The fourth act is short, its principal numbers being the introduction, terzetto and chorus ("Wer war's der euch hierher beschied?"), and the finale, beginning with a somewhat sombre march of the cortege accompanying Rienzi to the church, leading to the details of the conspiracy scene, and closing with the malediction of the monks, "Vae, vae tibi maledicto." The last act opens with an impressive prayer by Rienzi ("Allmacht'ger Vater"), which leads to a tender duet ("Verlaesst die Kirche mich") as Irene enters, closing with a passionate aria by Rienzi ("Ich liebte gluehend"). The duet is then resumed, and leads to a second and intensely passionate duet ("Du hier Irene!") between Adriano and Irene. The finale is brief, but full of energy, and is principally choral. The denouement hurries, and the tragedy is reached amid a tumultuous outburst of voices and instruments. Unlike Wagner's other operas, in "Rienzi" set melody dominates, and the orchestra, as in the Italian school, furnishes the accompaniments. We have the regular overture, aria, duet, trio, and concerted finale; but after "Rienzi" we shall observe a change, at last becoming so radical that the composer himself threw aside his first opera as unworthy of performance.

THE FLYING DUTCHMAN.

"Der Fliegende Hollaender," a romantic opera in three acts, words by the composer, the subject taken from Heinrich Heine's version of the legend, was first produced at Dresden, Jan. 2, 1843, with Mme. Schroeder-Devrient and Herr Wechter in the two principal roles. It was also produced in London in 1870 at Drury Lane as "L'Ollandose dannato," by Signor Arditi, with Mlle. Di Murska, Signors Foli, Perotti, and Rinaldini, and Mr. Santley in the leading parts; in 1876, by Carl Rosa as "The Flying Dutchman," an English version; and again in 1877 as "Il Vascello fantasma." In this country the opera was introduced in its English form by Miss Clara Louise Kellogg.

Wagner conceived the idea of writing "The Flying Dutchman" during the storm which overtook him on his voyage from Riga to Paris. He says in his Autobiography: "'The Flying Dutchman,' whose intimate acquaintance I had made at sea, continually enchained my fancy. I had become acquainted, too, with Heinrich Heine's peculiar treatment of the legend in one portion of his 'Salon.' Especially the treatment of the delivery of this Ahasuerus of the ocean (taken by Heine from a Dutch drama of the same title) gave me everything ready to use the legend as the libretto of an opera. I came to an understanding about it with Heine himself, drew up the scheme, and gave it to M. Leon Pillet [manager of the Grand Opera], with the proposition that he should have a French libretto made from it for me." Subsequently M. Pillet purchased the libretto direct from Wagner, who consented to the transaction, as he saw no opportunity of producing the opera in Paris. It was then set by Dietsch as "Le Vaisseau fantome," and brought out in Paris in 1842. In the mean time, not discouraged by his bad fortune, Wagner set to work, wrote the German verse, and completed the opera in seven weeks for Dresden, where it was finally performed, as already stated. Unlike "Rienzi," it met with failure both in Dresden and Berlin; but its merits were recognized by Spohr, who encouraged him to persevere in the course he had marked out.

The plot of the opera is very simple. A Norwegian vessel, commanded by Daland, compelled by stress of weather, enters a port not far from her destination. At the same time a mysterious vessel, with red sails and black hull, commanded by the wandering Flying Dutchman, who is destined to sail the seas without rest until he finds a maiden who will be faithful until death, puts into the same port. The two captains meet, and Daland invites the stranger to his home. The two at last progress so rapidly in mutual favor that a marriage is agreed upon between the stranger and Senta, Daland's daughter. The latter is a dreamy, imaginative girl, who, though she has an accepted lover, Eric, is so fascinated with the legend of the stranger that she becomes convinced she is destined to save him from perdition. When he arrives with her father she recognizes him at once, and vows eternal constancy to him. In the last act, however, Eric appears and reproaches Senta with her faithlessness. The stranger overhears them, and concludes that as she has been recreant to her former lover, so too she will be untrue to him. He decides to leave her; for if he should remain, her penalty would be eternal death. As his mysterious vessel sails away Senta rushes to a cliff, and crying out that her life will be the price of his release, hurls herself into the sea, vowing to be constant to him even in death. The phantom vessel sinks, the sea grows calm, and in the distance the two figures are seen rising in the sunlight never to be parted.

The overture characterizes the persons and situations of the drama, and introduces the motives which Wagner ever after used so freely,—among them the curse resting upon the Dutchman, the restless motion of the sea, the message of the Angel of Mercy personified in Senta, the personification of the Dutchman, and the song of Daland's crew. The first act opens with an introduction representing a storm, and a characteristic sailors' chorus, followed by an exquisite love-song for tenor ("Mit Gewitter und Sturm"), and a grand scena of the Dutchman ("Die Frist ist um"), which lead up to a melodious duet between the Dutchman and Daland. The act closes with the sailors' chorus as the two vessels sail away.

After a brief instrumental prelude, the second act opens in Daland's home, where the melancholy Senta sits surrounded by her companions, who are spinning. To the whirring accompaniment of the violins they sing a very realistic spinning song ("Summ' und brumm du gutes Maedchen"), interrupted at intervals by the laughter of the girls as they rally Senta upon her melancholy looks. Senta replies with a weird and exquisitely melodious ballad ("Johohae! traefft ihr das Schiff im Meere an"), in which she tells the story of the Flying Dutchman, and anticipates her own destiny. The song is full of intense feelings and is characterized by a motive which frequently recurs in the opera, and is the key to the whole work. A duet follows between Eric and Senta, the melodious character of which shows that Wagner was not yet entirely freed from Italian influences. A short duet ensues between Senta and her father, and then the Dutchman appears. As they stand and gaze at each other for a long time, the orchestra meanwhile supplying the supposed emotions of each, we have a clew to the method Wagner was afterwards to employ so successfully. A duet between Senta and the Dutchman ("Wie aus der Ferne") and a terzetto with Daland close the act.

The third act opens with another sailors' chorus ("Steuermann, lass' die Wacht"), and a brisk dialogue between them and the women who are bringing them provisions. The latter also hail the crew of the Dutchman's vessel, but get no reply until the wind suddenly rises, when they man the vessel and sing the refrain with which the Dutchman is continually identified. A double chorus of the two crews follows. Senta then appears accompanied by Eric, who seeks to restrain her from following the stranger in a very dramatic duet ("Was muss ich hoeren?"). The finale is made up of sailors' and female choruses, and a trio between Senta, Daland, and the Dutchman, which are woven together with consummate skill, and make a very effective termination to the weird story. There are no points in common between "The Flying Dutchman" and "Rienzi," except that in the former Wagner had not yet clearly freed himself from conventional melody. It is interesting as marking his first step towards the music of the future in his use of motives, his wonderful treatment of the orchestra in enforcing the expression of the text, and his combination of the voices and instrumentation in what he so aptly calls "The Music-Drama."

TANNHAEUSER

"Tannhaeuser und der Singerkrieg auf Wartburg" ("Tannhaeuser and the singers' contest at the Wartburg"), a romantic opera in three acts, words by the composer, was first produced at the Royal Opera, Dresden, Oct. 20, 1845, with Mme. Schroeder-Devrient and Herr Niemann as Elizabeth and Tannhaeuser. Its first performance in Paris was on March 13, 1861; but it was a failure after three representations, and was made the butt of Parisian ridicule, even Berlioz joining in the tirade. In England it was brought out in Italian at Covent Garden, May 6, 1876, though its overture was played by the London Philharmonic orchestra in 1855, Wagner himself leading.

In the spring of 1842 Wagner returned from Paris to Germany, and on his way to Dresden visited the castle of Wartburg, in the Thuringian Valley, where he first conceived the idea of writing "Tannhaeuser." The plot was taken from an old German tradition, which centres about the castle where the landgraves of the thirteenth century instituted peaceful contests between the Minnesingers and knightly poets. Near this castle towers the Venusberg, a dreary elevation, which, according to popular tradition, was inhabited by Holda, the goddess of Spring. Proscribed by Christianity, she took refuge in its caverns, where she was afterwards confounded with the Grecian Venus. Her court was filled with nymphs and sirens, who enticed those whose impure desires led them to its vicinity, and lured them into the caverns, from which they were supposed never to return. The first act opens in this court, and reveals Tannhaeuser, the knight and minstrel, under the sway of Venus. In spite of her fascinations he succeeds in tearing himself away, and we next find him at the castle of Wartburg, the home of Hermann the Landgrave, whose daughter Elizabeth is in love with him. At the minstrel contest he enters into the lists with the other Minnesingers, and, impelled by a reckless audacity and the subtle influence of Venus, sings of the attractions of sensual pleasures. Walter, of the Vogelweide, replies with a song to virtue. Tannhaeuser breaks out in renewed sensual strains, and a quarrel ensues. The knights rush upon him with their swords, but Elizabeth interposes and saves his life. He expresses his penitence, makes a pilgrimage to Rome and confesses to the Pope, who replies that, having tasted the pleasures of hell, he is forever damned, and, raising his crosier, adds: "Even as this wood cannot blossom again, so there is no pardon for thee." Elizabeth prays for him in her solitude, but her prayers apparently are of no avail. At last he returns dejected and hopeless, and in his wanderings meets Wolfram, another minstrel, also in love with Elizabeth, to whom he tells the sad story of his pilgrimage. He determines to return to the Venusberg. He hears the voices of the sirens luring him back. Wolfram seeks to detain him, but is powerless until he mentions the name of Elizabeth, when the sirens vanish and their spells lose their attraction. A funeral procession approaches in the distance, and on the bier is the form of the saintly Elizabeth. He sinks down upon the coffin and dies. As his spirit passes away his pilgrim's staff miraculously bursts out into leaf and blossom, showing that his sins have been forgiven.

The overture to the opera is well known by its frequent performances as a concert number. It begins with the pilgrim's song, which, as it dies away, is succeeded by the seductive spells of the Venusberg and the voices of the sirens calling to Tannhaeuser. As the whirring sounds grow fainter and fainter, the pilgrim's song is again heard gradually approaching, and at last closing the overture in a joyous burst of harmony. The first act opens with the scene in the Venusberg, accompanied by the Bacchanale music, which was written in Paris by Wagner after the opera was finished and had been performed. It is now known as "the Parisian Bacchanale." It is followed by a voluptuous scene between Tannhaeuser and Venus, a long dialogue, during which the hero, seizing his harp, trolls out a song ("Doch sterblich, ach!"), the theme of which has already been given out by the overture, expressing his weariness of her companionship. The second scene transports us to a valley, above which towers the castle of Wartburg. A young shepherd, perched upon a rock, sings a pastoral invocation to Holda ("Frau Holda kam aus dem Berg hervor"), the strains of his pipe (an oboe obligato) weaving about the stately chorus of the elder pilgrims ("Zu dir wall' ich, mein Herr und Gott") as they come along the mountain paths from the castle. The scene, which is one of great beauty, closes with the lament of Tannhaeuser ("Ach! schwer drueckt mich der Suenden Last"), intermingled with the receding song of the pilgrims, the ringing of church-bells in the distance, and the merry notes of hunters' horns as the Landgrave and his followers approach. The meeting with Tannhaeuser leads to an expressive septet, in which Wolfram has a very impressive solo ("Als du in kuehnem Sange").

The second act opens in the singers' hall of the Wartburg. Elizabeth, entering joyfully, greets it in a recitation ("Froh gruess ich dich, geliebter Raum"), if we may so term it, which is characterized by a joyous but dignified dramatic appeal, recalling the scenes of her youth. The interview between Tannhaeuser and Elizabeth, which follows, gives rise to a long dialogue, closing with a union of the two voices in the charming duet, "Gepriesen sei die Macht." Then follows the grand march and chorus, "Freudig begruessen wir die edle Halle," announcing the beginning of the song contest. The stirring rhythm and bold, broad outlines of this march are so well known that it is needless to dwell upon it. The scene of the contest is declamatory throughout, and full of animation and spirit; its most salient points being the hymn of Wolfram ("O Himmel lasst dich jetzt erflehen") in honor of ideal love, and Elizabeth's appeal to the knights to spare Tannhaeuser ("Zurueck von ihm"), which leads up to a spirited septet and choral ensemble closing the act.

In the third act we are once more in the valley of the Wartburg. After a plaintive song by Wolfram ("Wohl wusst ich hier sie im Gebet zu finden"), the chorus of the returning pilgrims is heard in the distance, working up to a magnificent crescendo as they approach and cross the stage. Elizabeth, who has been earnestly watching them to find if Tannhaeuser be of their number, disappointed, sinks upon her knees and sings the touching prayer, "Allmaecht'ge Jungfrau, hoer mein Flehen." As she leaves the scene, Wolfram takes his harp and sings the enchanting fantasy to the evening star, "O, du mein holder Abendstern,"—a love-song to the saintly Elizabeth. Tannhaeuser makes his appearance. A long declamatory dialogue ensues between himself and Wolfram, in which he recites the story of his pilgrimage. The scene is one of extraordinary power, and calls for the highest vocal and dramatic qualities in order to make it effective. From this point on, the tragedy hastens. There is the struggle once more with the sirens, and amid Wolfram's touching appeals and Tannhaeuser's exclamations is heard the enticement of the Venus music. But at the name "Elizabeth" it dies away. The mists grow denser as the magic crew disappears, and through them is seen a light upon the Wartburg. The tolling of bells and the songs of mourners are heard as the cortege approaches. As Tannhaeuser dies, the pilgrims' chorus again rises in ecstasy, closing with a mighty shout of "Hallelujah!" and the curtain falls.

LOHENGRIN.

"Lohengrin," a romantic opera in three acts, words by the composer, was first produced at Weimar, Aug. 28, 1850, the anniversary of Goethe's birthday, under the direction of Franz Liszt, and with the following cast of the leading parts:—

LOHENGRIN Herr BECK. TELRAMUND Herr MILDE. KING Herr HOFER. ELSA Frau AGATHE. ORTRUD Frauelein FASTLINGER.

"Lohengrin" was begun in Paris, and finished in Switzerland during the period in which Wagner was director of the musical society as well as of the orchestra at the city theatre of Zurich, whither he had fled to escape the penalties for taking part in the political agitations and subsequent insurrection of 1849. Though it manifests a still further advancement in the development of his system, it was far from being composed according to the abstract rules he had laid down. He says explicitly on this point, in his "Music of the Future:" "The first three of these poems—'The Flying Dutchman,' 'Tannhaeuser,' and 'Lohengrin'—were written by me, their music composed, and all (with the exception of 'Lohengrin') performed upon the stage, before the composition of my theoretical writings."

The story of Lohengrin, the son of Parsifal, upon which Wagner has based his drama, is taken from many sources, the old Celtic legend of King Arthur, his knights, and the Holy Grail being mixed with the distinctively German legend of a knight who arrives in his boat drawn by a swan. The version used by Wagner is supposed to be told by Wolfram von Eschenbach, the Minnesinger, at one of the Wartburg contests, and is in substance as follows: Henry I., King of Germany, known as "the Fowler," arrives at Antwerp for the purpose of raising a force to help him expel the Hungarians, who are threatening his dominions. He finds Brabant in a condition of anarchy. Gottfried, the young son of the late Duke, has mysteriously disappeared, and Telramund, the husband of Ortrud, daughter of the Prince of Friesland, claims the dukedom. The claimant openly charges Elsa, sister of Gottfried, with having murdered him to obtain the sovereignty, and she is summoned before the King to submit her cause to the ordeal of battle between Telramund and any knight whom she may name. She describes a champion whom she has seen in a vision, and conjures him to appear in her behalf. After a triple summons by the heralds, he is seen approaching on the Scheldt, in a boat drawn by a swan. Before the combat Lohengrin betroths himself to Elsa, naming only the condition that she shall never question him as to his name or race. She assents, and the combat results in Telramund's defeat and public disgrace.

In the second act occur the bridal ceremonies, prior to which, moved by Ortrud's entreaties, Elsa promises to obtain a reprieve for Telramund from the sentence which has been pronounced against him. At the same time Ortrud takes advantage of her success to instil doubts into Elsa's mind as to her future happiness and the faithfulness of Lohengrin.

In the next scene, as the bridal cortege is about to enter the minster, Ortrud claims the right of precedence by virtue of her rank, and Telramund publicly accuses Lohengrin of sorcery. The faith of Elsa, however, is not shaken. The two conspirators are ordered to stand aside, the train enters the church, and Elsa and Lohengrin are united.

The third act opens in the bridal chamber. The seeds of curiosity and distrust which Ortrud has sown in Elsa's mind have ripened, and in spite of her conviction that it will end her happiness, she questions Lohengrin with increasing vehemence, at last openly demanding to know his secret. At this juncture Telramund breaks into the apartment with four followers, intending to take the life of Lohengrin. A single blow of the knight's sword stretches him lifeless. He then places Elsa in the charge of her ladies and orders them to take her to the presence of the King, whither he also repairs. Compelled by his wife's unfortunate rashness, he discloses himself as the son of Parsifal, Knight of the Holy Grail, and announces that he must now return to its guardianship. His swan once more appears, and as he steps into the boat he bids Elsa an eternal farewell. Before he sails away, however, Ortrud declares to the wondering crowd that the swan is Elsa's brother, who has been bewitched by herself into this form, and would have been released but for Elsa's curiosity. Lohengrin at once disenchants the swan, and Gottfried appears and rushes into his sister's arms. A white dove flies through the air and takes the place of the swan, and Lohengrin sails away as Elsa dies in the embrace of her newly found brother.

The Vorspiel, or prelude, to the opera takes for its subject the descent of the Holy Grail, the mysterious symbol of the Christian faith, and the Grail motive is the key to the whole work. The delicious harmonies which accompany its descent increase in warmth and power until the sacred mystery is revealed to human eyes, and then die away to a pianissimo, and gradually disappear as the angels bearing the holy vessel return to their celestial abode. The curtain rises upon a meadow on the banks of the Scheldt, showing King Henry surrounded by his vassals and retainers. After their choral declaration of allegiance, Telramund, in a long declamatory scena of great power ("Zum Sterben kam der Herzog von Brabant"), tells the story of the troubles in Brabant, and impeaches Elsa. At the King's command, Elsa appears, and in a melodious utterance of extreme simplicity and sweetness, which is called the dream motive ("Einsam in trueben Tagen"), relates the vision of the knight who is to come to her assistance. The summons of the heralds preludes the climax of the act. Amid natural outcries of popular wonderment Lohengrin appears, and, as he leaves his boat, bids farewell to his swan in a strain of delicate beauty ("Nun sei gedankt, mein lieber Schwan"). The preparations for the combat are made, but before it begins, the motive of warning is sounded by Lohengrin ("Nie sollst du mich befragen"). The finale of the act takes the form of a powerful ensemble, composed of sextet and chorus, and beginning with the prayer of the King, "Mein Herr und Gott, nun ruf ich Dich."

The second act opens upon a night scene near the palace, which is merry with the wedding festivities, while the discomfited Telramund and Ortrud are plotting their conspiracy without in a long duet ("Erhebe dich, Genossin meiner Schmach"), which introduces new motives of hatred and revenge, as opposed to the Grail motive. In the second scene Elsa appears upon the balcony and sings a love-song ("Euch Lueften, die mein Klagen"), whose tenderness and confidence are in marked contrast with the doubts sown in her mind by Ortrud before the scene closes. The third scene is preluded with descriptive sunrise music by the orchestra, followed by the herald's proclamations, interspersed by choral responses, leading up to the bridal-procession music as the train moves on from the palace to the cathedral, accompanied by a stately march and choral strains, and all the artistic surroundings of a beautiful stage pageant. The progress is twice interrupted; first by Ortrud, who asserts her precedence, and second by Telramund, who, in the scena "Den dort im Glanz," accuses Lohengrin of sorcery. When Elsa still expresses her faith, the train moves on, and reaches its destination amid the acclamations of the chorus ("Heil, Elsa von Brabant!").

The third act opens in the bridal chamber with the graceful bridal song by Elsa's ladies, "Treulich gefuhrt, ziehet dahin," whose melodious strains have accompanied many unions, the world over, besides those of Elsa and Lohengrin. The second scene is an exquisite picture of the mutual outpouring of love, at first full of beauty and tenderness, but gradually darkening as Ortrud's insinuations produce their effect in Elsa's mind. Tenderly Lohengrin appeals to her, but in vain; and at last the motive of warning is heard. The fatal questions are asked, the tragedy of Telramund follows, and all is over. The last scene introduces us once more to the meadow on the Scheldt, where Lohengrin appears before the King and his vassals. In their presence he reveals himself as the son of Parsifal, in a scena of consummate power ("In fernem Land, unnahbar euren Schritten"), wherein the Grail motive reaches its fullest development. It is followed by his touching farewell, "O Elsa! nur ein Jahr an deiner Seite," the melody of which can hardly be surpassed in dignity and impressiveness. The denouement now hastens, and Lohengrin disappears, to the accompaniment of the Grail motive.

TRISTAN UND ISOLDE.

"Tristan und Isolde," an opera in three acts, words by the composer, was first produced at Munich, June 10, 1865, under the direction of Hans von Buelow, with the following cast of characters:—

TRISTAN Herr LUDWIG SCHNORR VON CAROLSFELD. KURWENAL Herr MITTERWURZER. KING MARK Herr ZOTTMAYER. ISOLDE Mme. SCHNORR VON CAROLSFELD. BRANGOENA Mlle. DEINET.

"Tristan and Isolde" was commenced in 1857 and finished in 1859, during the period in which Wagner was engaged upon his colossal work, "The Ring of the Nibelung." As early as the middle of 1852 he had finished the four dramatic poems which comprise the cyclus of the latter, and during the next three years he finished the music to "Das Rheingold" and "Die Walkuere." In one of his letters he says: "In the summer of 1857 I determined to interrupt the execution of my work on the Nibelungen and begin something shorter, which should renew my connection with the stage." The legend of Tristan was selected. It is derived from the old Celtic story of "Tristram and Iseult," the version adopted by Wagner being that of Gottfried of Strasburg, a bard of the thirteenth century, though it must be said he uses it in his own manner, and at times widely departs both from the original and the mediaeval poem.

In "Tristan and Isolde" Wagner broke completely loose from all the conventional forms of opera. It has nothing in common with the old style of lyric entertainment. As Hueffer says, in his recent Life of Wagner: "Here is heard for the first time the unimpaired language of dramatic passion intensified by an uninterrupted flow of expressive melody. Here also the orchestra obtains that wide range of emotional expression which enables it, like the chorus of the antique tragedy, to discharge the dialogue of an overplus of lyrical elements without weakening the intensity of the situation, which it accompanies like an unceasing passionate undercurrent." In an opera like this, which is intended to commingle dramatic action, intensity of verse, and the power and charm of the music in one homogeneous whole, the reader will at once observe the difficulty of doing much more than the telling of its story, leaving the musical declamation and effects to be inferred from the text. Even Wagner himself in the original title is careful to designate the work "Ein Handlung" (an action).

The vorspiel to the drama is based upon a single motive, which is worked up with consummate skill into various melodic forms, and frequently appears throughout the work. It might well be termed the motive of restless, irresistible passion. The drama opens on board a ship in which the Cornish knight, Tristan, is bearing Isolde, the unwilling Irish bride, to King Mark of Cornwall. As the vessel is nearing the land, Isolde sends Brangoena to the Knight, who is also in love with her, but holds himself aloof by reason of a blood-feud, and orders him to appear at her side. His refusal turns Isolde's affection to bitterness, and she resolves that he shall die, and that she will share death with him. She once more calls Tristan, and tells him that the time has come for him to make atonement for slaying her kinsman, Morold.

She directs Brangoena to mix a death-potion and invites him to drink with her, but without her knowledge Brangoena has prepared a love-potion, which inflames their passions beyond power of restraint. Oblivious of the landing, the approach of the royal train, and all that is going on about them, they remain folded in mutual embrace.

The second act opens in Cornwall, in a garden which leads to Isolde's chamber, she being already wedded to King Mark. With Brangoena she is waiting for Tristan. The King goes out upon a night hunt, and no sooner has he disappeared than Isolde gives the signal for his approach, while Brangoena goes to her station to watch. The second scene is a most elaborate love-duet between the guilty pair, the two voices at first joining ("Bist du mein? Hab'ich dich wieder?"). A passionate dialogue ensues, and then the two voices join again ("O sink' hernieder, Nacht der Liebe"). After a brief dialogue Brangoena's warning voice is heard. Absorbed in each other, they pay no heed, and once more they join in the very ecstasy of passion, so far as it can be given musical form, in the finale of the duet, "O suesse Nacht! Ew'ge Nacht! Hehr erhabne Liebes-Nacht." The treachery of Sir Melot, Tristan's pretended friend, betrays the lovers to the King. Tristan offers no explanations, but touched by the King's bitter reproaches provokes Sir Melot to combat and allows himself to be mortally wounded.

The third act opens in Brittany, whither Kurwenal, Tristan's faithful henchman, has taken him. A shepherd lad watches from a neighboring height to announce the appearance of a vessel, for Kurwenal has sent for Isolde to heal his master's wound. At last the stirring strains of the shepherd's pipe signal her coming. In his delirious joy Tristan tears the bandages from his wounds, and has only strength enough left to call Isolde by name and die in her arms. Now a second vessel is seen approaching, bearing King Mark and his men. Thinking that his design is hostile, Kurwenal attempts to defend the castle, but is soon forced to yield, and dies at the feet of his master. The King exclaims against his rashness, for since he had heard Brangoena's story of the love-potion he had come to give his consent to the union of the lovers. Isolde, transfigured with grief, sings her last farewell to her lover ("Mild und leise wie er laechelt"), and expires on his body. The dying song is one of great beauty and pathos, and sadly recalls the passion of the duet in the second act, as Isolde's mournful strains are accompanied in the orchestra by the sweetly melodious motives which had been heard in it, the interweaving of the two also suggesting that in death the lovers have been reunited.

THE MASTERSINGERS.

"Die Meistersinger von Nuernberg," a comic opera in three acts, words by the composer, was first produced at Munich, June 21, 1868, under the direction of Hans von Buelow, with the following cast:

HANS SACHS Herr BETZ. WALTER Herr NACHBAUER. BECKMESSER Herr HOELZEL. DAVID Herr SCHLOSSER. EVA Mlle. MALLINGER. MAGDALENA Mme. DIETZ.

The plan of "The Mastersingers" was conceived about the same time as that of "Lohengrin," during the composer's stay at Marienbad, and occupied his attention at intervals for twenty years, as it was not finished until 1867. As is clearly apparent both from its music and text, it was intended as a satire upon the composer's critics, who had charged that he was incapable of writing melody. It is easy to see that these critics are symbolized by the old pedant Beckmesser, and that in Walter we have Wagner himself. When he is first brought in contact with the Mastersingers, and one of their number, Kothner, asks him if he gained his knowledge in any school, he replies, "The wood before the Vogelweid', 'twas there I learnt my singing;" and again he answers:—

"What winter night. What wood so bright, What book and nature brought me, What poet songs of magic might Mysteriously have taught me, On horses' tramp, On field and camp, On knights arrayed For war parade My mind its powers exerted."

The story is not only one of love as between Walter and Eva, but of satirical protest as between Walter and Beckmesser, and the two subjects are illustrated not only with delicate fancy but with the liveliest of humor. The work is replete with melody. It has chorales, marches, folk-songs, duets, quintets, ensembles, and choruses, and yet the composer does not lose sight of his theories; for here we observe as characteristic a use of motives and as skilful a combination of them as can be found in any of his works. To thoroughly comprehend the story, it is necessary to understand the conditions one had to fulfil before he could be a mastersinger. First of all he must master the "Tabulatur," which included the rules and prohibitions. Then he must have the requisite acquaintance with the various methods of rhyming verse, and with the manner of fitting appropriate music to it. One who had partially mastered the Tabulatur was termed a "scholar;" the one who had thoroughly learned it, a "schoolman;" the one who could improvise verses, a "poet;" and the one who could set music to his verses, a "mastersinger." In the test there were thirty-three faults to be guarded against; and whenever the marker had chalked up seven against the candidate, he was declared to have oversung himself and lost the coveted honor.

The vorspiel is a vivid delineation of mediaeval German life, full of festive pomp, stirring action, glowing passion, and exuberant humor. The first act opens in the Church of St. Katherine, at Nuremberg, with the singing of a chorale to organ accompaniment. During the chorale and its interludes a quiet love-scene is being enacted between Eva, daughter of the wealthy goldsmith Veit Pogner, and Walter von Stolzing, a noble young knight. The attraction is mutual. Eva is ready to become his bride, but it is necessary that her husband should be a mastersinger. Rather than give up the hand of the fair Eva, Walter, short as the time is, determines to master the precepts and enter the lists. As Eva and her attendant, Magdalena, leave the church, the apprentices enter to arrange for the trial, among them David, the friskiest of them all, who is in love with Magdalena. He volunteers to give Walter some instructions, but they do not avail him much in the end, for the lesson is sadly disturbed by the gibes of the boys, in a scene full of musical humor. At last Pogner and Beckmesser, the marker, who is also a competitor for Eva's hand, enter from the sacristy. After a long dialogue between them the other masters assemble, Hans Sachs, the cobbler-bard, coming in last. After calling the roll, the ceremonies open with a pompous address by Pogner ("Das schoene Fest, Johannis-Tag"), in which he promises the hand of Eva, "with my gold and goods beside," to the successful singer on the morrow, which is John the Baptist's Day. After a long parley among the gossiping masters, Pogner introduces Walter as a candidate for election. He sings a charming song ("So rief der Lenz in den Wald"), and as he sings, the marker, concealed behind a screen, is heard scoring down the faults. When he displays the slate it is found to be covered with them. The masters declare him outsung and rejected, but Hans Sachs befriends him, and demands he shall have a chance for the prize.

The second act discloses Pogner's house and Sachs's shop. The apprentices are busy putting up the shutters, and are singing as they work. Walter meets Eva and plots an elopement with her, but Sachs prevents them from carrying out their rash plan. Meanwhile Beckmesser makes his appearance with his lute for the purpose of serenading Eva and rehearsing the song he is to sing for the prize on the morrow. As he is about to sing, Sachs breaks out into a rollicking folk-song ("Jerum, jerum, halla, halla, he!"), in which he sings of Mother Eve and the troubles she had after she left Paradise, for want of shoes. At last he allows Beckmesser a hearing, provided he will permit him to mark the faults with his hammer upon the shoe he is making. The marker consents, and sings his song, "Den Tag seh' ich erscheinen," accompanied with excruciating roulades of the old-fashioned conventional sort; but Sachs knocks so often that his shoe is finished long before Beckmesser's song. This is his first humiliation. Before the act finishes he is plunged into still further trouble, for David suspects him of designs upon Magdalena, and a general quarrel ensues.

The third act opens upon a peaceful Sunday-morning scene in the sleepy old town, and shows us Sachs sitting in his arm-chair at the window reading his Bible, and now and then expressing his hopes for Walter's success, as the great contest is soon to take place. At last he leans back, and after a brief meditation commences a characteristic song ("Wahn! wahn! Ueberall wahn!"). A long dialogue ensues between him and Walter, and then as Eva, David, Magdalena, and Beckmesser successively enter, the scene develops into a magnificent quintet, which is one of the most charming numbers in the opera. The situation then suddenly changes. The stage-setting represents an open meadow on the banks of the Pegnitz. The river is crowded with boats. The plain is covered with tents full of merrymakers. The different guilds are continually arriving. A livelier or more stirring scene can hardly be imagined than Wagner has here pictured, with its accompaniment of choruses by the various handicraftsmen, their pompous marches, and the rural strains of town pipers. At last the contest begins. Beckmesser attempts to get through his song and dismally fails. Walter follows him with the beautiful prize-song, "Morgenlich leuchtend in rosigem Schein." He wins the day and the hand of Eva. Exultant Sachs trolls out a lusty lay ("Verachtet mir der Meister nicht"), and the stirring scene ends with the acclamations of the people ("Heil Sachs! Hans Sachs! Heil Nuernberg's theurem Sachs!").

THE RING OF THE NIBELUNG.

"Der Ring des Nibelungen," a trilogy, the subject taken from the Nibelungen Lied and adapted by the composer, was first conceived by Wagner during the composition of "Lohengrin." The four dramatic poems which constitute its cyclus were written as early as 1852, which will correct a very general impression that this colossal work was projected during the closing years of his life. On the contrary, it was the product of his prime. Hueffer, in his biographical sketch of Wagner, says that he hesitated between the historical and mythical principles as the subjects of his work,—Frederick the First representing the former, and Siegfried, the hero of Teutonic mythology, the latter. Siegfried was finally selected. "Wagner began at once sketching the subject, but gradually the immense breadth and grandeur of the old types began to expand under his hands, and the result was a trilogy, or rather tetralogy, of enormous dimensions, perhaps the most colossal attempt upon which the dramatic muse has ventured since the times of AEschylus." The trilogy is really in four parts,—"Das Rheingold" (the Rhinegold); "Die Walkuere" (the Valkyrie); "Siegfried"; and "Die Goetterdaemmerung" (the Twilight of the Gods), "The Rhinegold" being in the nature of an introduction to the trilogy proper, though occupying an evening for its performance. Between the years 1852 and 1856 the composer wrote the music of the "Rhinegold" and the whole of "The Valkyrie;" and then, as he says himself, wishing to keep up his active connection with the stage, he interrupted the progress of the main scheme, and wrote "Tristan and Isolde," which occupied him from 1856 to 1859. During its composition, however, he did not entirely forsake the trilogy. In the autumn of 1856 he began "Siegfried," the composition of which was not finished until 1869, owing to many other objects which engaged his attention during this period, one of which was the composition of "The Mastersingers," which he wrote at intervals between 1861 and 1867. From the latter year until 1876, when the trilogy was produced at Baireuth, he gave himself wholly to the work of completing it and preparing it for the stage.

Prior to the production of the completed work, separate parts of it were given, though Wagner strongly opposed it. "The Rhinegold," or introduction, came to a public dress-rehearsal at Munich Aug. 25, 1869, and "The Valkyrie" was performed in a similar manner in the same city, June 24, 1870, with the following cast:—

WOTAN Herr KINDERMANN. SIEGMUND Herr VOGL. HUNDING Herr BAUSERWEIN. BRUENNHILDE Frl. STEHLE. SIEGLINDE Frau VOGL. FRICKA Frl. KAUFFMANN.

The "Siegfried" and "Goetterdaemmerung," however, were not given until the entire work was performed in 1876. Upon the completion of his colossal task Wagner began to look about him for the locality, theatre, artists, and materials suitable for a successful representation. In the circular which he issued, narrating the circumstances which led up to the building of the Baireuth opera-house, he says: "As early as the spring of 1871 I had, quietly and unnoticed, had my eye upon Baireuth, the place I had chosen for my purpose. The idea of using the Margravian Opera-House was abandoned so soon as I saw its interior construction. But yet the peculiar character of that kindly town and its site so answered my requirements, that during the wintry latter part of the autumn of the same year I repeated my visit,—this time, however, to treat with the city authorities.... An unsurpassably beautiful and eligible plot of ground at no great distance from the town was given me on which to erect the proposed theatre. Having come to an understanding as to its erection with a man of approved inventive genius, and of rare experience in the interior arrangement of theatres, we could then intrust to an architect of equal acquaintance with theatrical building the further planning and the erection of the provisional structure. And despite the great difficulties which attended the arrangements for putting under way so unusual an undertaking, we made such progress that the laying of the corner-stone could be announced to our patrons and friends for May 22, 1872." The ceremony took place as announced, and was made still further memorable by a magnificent performance of Beethoven's Ninth or Choral Symphony, the chorus of which, set to Schiller's "Ode to Joy," was sung by hundreds of lusty German throats. In addition to the other contents of the stone, Wagner deposited the following mystic verse of his own:

"I bury here a secret deep, For centuries long to lie concealed; Yet while this stone its trust shall keep, To all the secret stands revealed."

He also made an eloquent address, setting forth the details of the plans and the purposes of the new temple of art. The undertaking was now fairly inaugurated. The erratic King of Bavaria had from the first been Wagner's steadfast friend and munificent patron; but not to him alone belongs the credit of the colossal project and its remarkable success. When Wagner first made known his views, other friends, among them Tausig, the eminent pianist, at once devoted themselves to his cause. In connection with a lady of high rank, Baroness von Schleinitz, he proposed to raise the sum of three hundred thousand thalers by the sale of patronage shares at three hundred thalers each, and had already entered upon the work when his death for the time dashed Wagner's hopes. Other friends, however, now came forward. An organization for the promotion of the scheme, called the "Richard Wagner Society," was started at Mannheim. Notwithstanding the ridicule which it excited, another society was formed at Vienna. Like societies began to appear in all the principal cities of Germany, and they found imitators in Milan, Pesth, Brussels, London, and New York. Shares were taken so rapidly that the success of the undertaking was no longer doubtful. Meanwhile the theatre itself was under construction. It combined several peculiarities, one of the most novel of which was the concealment of the orchestra by the sinking of the floor, so that the view of the audience could not be interrupted by the musicians and their movements. Private boxes were done away with, the arrangement of the seats being like that of an ancient amphitheatre, all of them facing the stage. Two prosceniums were constructed which gave an indefinable sense of distance to the stage-picture. To relieve the bare side walls, a row of pillars was planned, gradually widening outward and forming the end of the rows of seats, thus having the effect of a third proscenium. The stage portion of the theatre was twice as high as the rest of the building, for all the scenery was both raised and lowered, the incongruity between the two parts being concealed by a facade in front. "Whoever has rightly understood me," says Wagner, "will readily perceive that architecture itself had to acquire a new significance under the inspiration of the genius of Music, and thus that the myth of Amphion building the walls of Thebes by the notes of his lyre has yet a meaning."

The theatre was completed in 1876, and in the month of August (13-16) Wagner saw the dream of his life take the form of reality. He had everything at his command,—a theatre specially constructed for his purpose; a stage which in size, scenery, mechanical arrangements, and general equipment, has not its equal in the world; an array of artists the best that Europe could produce; an orchestra almost literally composed of virtuosi. The audience which gathered at these performances—composed of princes, illustrious men in every department of science and culture, and prominent musicians from all parts of the world—was one of which any composer might have been proud, while the representation itself marked an epoch in musical history, and promulgated a new system of laws destined to affect operatic composition ever after.

The casts of the various portions of the trilogy upon this memorable occasion were as follows:

DAS RHEINGOLD. (PRELUDE.)

WOTAN (Herr BETZ. DONNER (Herr GURA. Gods FROH (Herr UNGER. LOGE (Herr VOGL.

FASOLT (Herr EILERS. Giants FAFNER (Herr VON REICHENBERG.

ALBERICH (Herr HILL. Nibelungs MIME (Herr SCHLOSSER.

FRICKA (Frau VON GRUEN-SADLER. FREIA Goddesses (Frl. HAUPT. ERDA (Frau JAEIDA.

Woglinde ) ( Frl. Lilly Lehmann. Wellgunde ) Rhine daughters ( Frl. Marie Lehmann. Flosshilde ) ( Frl. Lammert.

DIE WALKUERE.

SIEGMUND Herr NIEMANN. HUNDING Herr NIERING. WOTAN Herr BETZ. SIEGLINDE Frl. SCHEFZKY. BRUENNHILDE Frau FRIEDRICH-MATERNA. FRICKA Frau VON GRUEN-SADLER.

SIEGFRIED.

SIEGFRIED Herr UNGER. MIME Herr SCHLOSSER. DER WANDERER Herr BETZ. ALBERICH Herr HILL. FAFNER Herr VON REICHENBERG. ERDA Frau JAEIDA. BRUENNHILDE Frau FRIEDRICH-MATERNA

DER GOETTERDAEMMERUNG.

SIEGFRIED Herr UNGER. GUNTHER Herr GURA. HAGEN Herr VON REICHENBERG. ALBERICH Herr HILL. BRUENNHILDE Frau FRIEDRICH-MATERNA. GUTRUNE Frl. WECKERLIN. WALTRAUTE Frau JAEIDA.

The motive of the drama turns upon the possession of a ring of magic qualities, made of gold stolen from the Rhine daughters by Alberich, one of the Nibelungen, who dwelt in Nebelheim, the place of mists. This ring, the symbol of all earthly power, was at the same time to bring a curse upon all who possessed it. Wotan, of the race of the gods, covetous of power and heedless of the curse which follows it, obtained the ring from Alberich by force and cunning, and soon found himself involved in calamity from which there was no apparent escape. He himself could not expiate the wrong he had done, nor could he avert the impending doom, the "twilight" of the gods, which was slowly and surely approaching. Only a free will, independent of the gods, and able to take upon itself the fault, could make reparation for the deed. At last he yields to despair. His will is broken, and instead of fearing the inevitable doom he courts it. In this sore emergency the hero appears. He belongs to an heroic race of men, the Volsungs. The unnatural union of the twins, Siegmund and Sieglinde, born of this race, produces the real hero, Siegfried. The parents pay the penalty of incest with their lives; but Siegfried remains, and Wotan watches his growth and magnificent development with eager interest. Siegfried recovers the ring from the giants, to whom Wotan had given it, by slaying a dragon which guarded the fatal treasure. Bruennhilde, the Valkyr, Wotan's daughter, contrary to his instructions, had protected Siegmund in a quarrel which resulted in his death, and was condemned by the irate god to fall into a deep sleep upon a rock surrounded by flames, where she was to remain until a hero should appear bold enough to break through the wall of fire and awaken her. Siegfried rescues her. She wakens into the full consciousness of passionate love, and yields herself to the hero, who presents her with the ring, but not before it has worked its curse upon him, so that he, faithless even in his faithfulness, wounds her whom he deeply loves, and drives her from him. Meanwhile Gunther, Gutrune, and their half-brother Hagen conspire to obtain the ring from Bruennhilde and to kill Siegfried. Through the agency of a magic draught he is induced to desert her, after once more getting the ring. He then marries Gutrune. The curse soon reaches its consummation. One day, while traversing his favorite forests on a hunting expedition, he is killed by Hagen, with Gunther's connivance. The two murderers then quarrel for the possession of the ring, and Gunther is slain. Hagen attempts to wrest it from the dead hero's finger, but shrinks back terrified as the hand is raised in warning. Bruennhilde now appears, takes the ring, and proclaims herself his true wife. She mounts her steed, and dashes into the funeral pyre of Siegfried after returning the ring to the Rhine-daughters. This supreme act of immolation breaks forever the power of the gods, as is shown by the blazing Walhalla in the sky; but at the same time justice has been satisfied, reparation has been made for the original wrong, and the free will of man becomes established as a human principle.

Such are the outlines of this great story, which will be told more in detail when we come to examine the component parts of the trilogy. Dr. Ludwig Nohl, in his admirable sketch of the Nibelungen poem, as Wagner adapted it, gives us a hint of some of its inner meanings in the following extract: "Temporal power is not the highest destiny of a civilizing people. That our ancestors were conscious of this is shown in the fact that the treasure, or gold and its power, was transformed into the Holy Grail. Worldly aims give place to spiritual desires. With this interpretation of the Nibelungen myth, Wagner acknowledged the grand and eternal truth that this life is tragic throughout, and that the will which would mould a world to accord with one's desires can finally lead to no greater satisfaction than to break itself in a noble death.... It is this conquering of the world through the victory of self which Wagner conveys as the highest interpretation of our national myths. As Bruennhilde approaches the funeral pyre to sacrifice her life, the only tie still uniting her with the earth, to Siegfried, the beloved dead, she says:—

"'To the world I will give now my holiest wisdom; Not goods, nor gold, nor godlike pomp, Not house, nor lands, nor lordly state, Not wicked plottings of crafty men, Not base deceits of cunning law,— But, blest in joy and sorrow, let only love remain.'"

We now proceed to the analysis of the four divisions of the work, in which task, for obvious reasons, it will be hardly possible to do more than sketch the progress of the action, with allusions to its most striking musical features. There are no set numbers, as in the Italian opera; and merely to designate the leading motives and trace their relation to each other, to the action of the dramatis personae, and to the progress of the four movements, not alone towards their own climaxes but towards the ultimate denouement, would necessitate far more space than can be had in a work of this kind.

DAS RHEINGOLD.

The orchestral prelude to "The Rhinegold" is based upon a single figure, the Rhine motive, which in its changing developments pictures the calm at the bottom of the Rhine and the undulating movement of the water. The curtain rises and discloses the depths of the river, from which rise rugged ridges of rock. Around one of these, upon the summit of which glistens the Rhinegold, Woglinde, a Rhine-daughter, is swimming. Two others, Wellgunde and Flosshilde, join her; and as they play about the gleaming gold, Alberich, a dwarf, suddenly appears from a dark recess and passionately watches them. As they are making sport of him, his eye falls upon the gold and he determines to possess it. They make light of his threat, informing him that whoever shall forge a ring of this gold will have secured universal power, but before he can obtain that power he will have to renounce love. The disclosure of the secret follows a most exultant song of the Undines ("Rheingold! leuchtende Lust! wie lachst du so hell und hehr!"). In the announcement made by them also occurs the motive of the ring. The Rhine-daughters, who have fancied that Alberich will never steal the gold because he is in love with them, are soon undeceived, for he curses love, and snatches the gold and makes off with it, pursued by the disconsolate maidens, whose song changes into a sad minor leading up to the next scene. As they follow him into the dark depths the stream sinks with them and gives place to an open district with a mountain in the background, upon which is the glistening Walhalla, which the giants have just built for the gods. Wotan and Fricka are discovered awakening from sleep and joyfully contemplating it, the latter, however, filled with apprehension lest the giants shall claim Freia, the goddess of love, whom Wotan has promised to them as the reward for their work. Loge, the god of fire, however, has agreed to obtain a ransom for her. He has searched the world over, but has been unable to find anything that can excel in value or attraction the charm of love. As the gods are contemplating their castle Loge appears, and in a scene of great power, accompanied by music which vividly describes the element he dominates ("Immer ist Undank Loge's Lohn"), he narrates the tidings of his failure. The giants, however, have heard the story of the Rhinegold, and as they carry off the weeping Freia agree to release her whenever the gods will give to them the precious and all-powerful metal. As love departs, the heavens become dark and sadness overcomes the gods. They grow suddenly old and decrepit. Fricka totters and Wotan yields to despair. Darkness and decay settle down upon them. The divine wills are broken, and they are about to surrender to what seems approaching dissolution, when Wotan suddenly arouses himself and determines to go in quest of the all-powerful gold. Loge accompanies him, and the two enter the dark kingdom of the gnomes, who are constantly at work forging the metals. By virtue of his gold Alberich has already made himself master of all the gnomes, but Wotan easily overpowers him and carries him off to the mountain. The Nibelung, however, clings to his precious gold, and a struggle ensues for it. In spite of his strength and the power the ring gives to him it is wrenched from him, and the victorious Wotan leaves him free to return to his gloomy kingdom. Infuriated with disappointment over his loss and rage at his defeat, Alberich curses the ring and invokes misfortune upon him who possesses it. "May he who has it not, covet it with rage," cries the dwarf, "and may he who has it, retain it with the anguish of fear;" and with curse upon curse he disappears. Now that he has the ring, Wotan is unwilling to give it up. The other gods implore him to do so, and the giants demand their ransom. He remains inflexible; but at last Erda, the ancient divinity, to whom all things are known, past, present and future, appears to Wotan and warns him to surrender the ring. She declares that all which exists will have an end, and that a night of gloom will come upon the gods. So long as he retains the ring a curse will follow it. Her sinister foreboding so alarms him that at last he abandons the gold. Youth, pride, and strength once more return to the gods.

The grand closing scene of the prelude now begins. Wotan attempts to enter Walhalla, but all is veiled in oppressive mist and heavy clouds. The mighty Donner, accompanied by Froh, climbs a high rock in the valley's slope and brandishes his hammer, summoning the clouds about him. From out their darkness its blows are heard descending upon the rock. Lightning leaps from them, and thunder-crashes follow each other with deafening sounds. The rain falls in heavy drops. Then the clouds part, and reveal the two in the midst of their storm-spell. In the distance appears Walhalla bathed in the glow of the setting sun. From their feet stretches a luminous rainbow across the valley to the castle, while out from the disappearing storm comes the sweet rainbow melody. Froh sings, "Though built lightly it looks, fast and fit is the bridge." The gods are filled with delight, but Wotan gloomily contemplates the castle as the curse of the ring recurs to him. At last a new thought comes in his mind. The hero who will make reparation is to come from the new race of mortals of his own begetting. The thought appears in the sword motive, and as its stately melody dies away, Wotan rouses from his contemplation and hails Walhalla with joy as "a shelter from shame and harm." He takes Fricka by the hand, and leading the way, followed by Froh, Freia, Donner, and Loge, the last somewhat reluctantly, the gods pass over the rainbow bridge and enter Walhalla bathed in the light of the setting sun and accompanied by the strains of a majestic march. During their passage the plaintive song of the Rhine-daughters mourning their gold comes up from the depths. Wotan pauses a moment and inquires the meaning of the sounds, and bids Loge send a message to them that the treasure shall "gleam no more for the maids." Then they pass laughingly and mockingly on through the splendor to Walhalla. The sad song still rises from the depths of the Rhine, but it is overpowered by the strains of the march, and pealing music from the castle. The curtain falls upon their laments, and the triumphant entrance of the gods into their new home.

DIE WALKUERE.

In "The Valkyrie," properly the first part of the cyclus, the human drama begins. Strong races of men have come into existence, and Wotan's Valkyres watch over them, leading those who fall in battle to Walhalla, where, in the gods' companionship, they are to pass a glorious life. According to the original legend, Wotan blessed an unfruitful marriage of this race by giving the pair an apple of Hulda to eat, and the twins, Siegmund and Sieglinde, were the result of the union. When the first act opens, Siegmund has already taken a wife and Sieglinde has married the savage warrior Hunding, but neither marriage has been fruitful. It is introduced with an orchestral prelude representing a storm. The pouring of the rain is audible among the violins and the rumbling of the thunder in the deep basses. The curtain rises, disclosing the interior of a rude hut, its roof supported by the branches of an ash-tree whose trunk rises through the centre of the apartment. As the tempest rages without, Siegmund rushes in and falls exhausted by the fire. Attracted by the noise, Sieglinde appears, and observing the fallen stranger bends compassionately over him and offers him a horn of mead. As their eyes meet they watch each other with strange interest and growing emotion. While thus mutually fascinated, Hunding enters and turns an inquiring look upon Sieglinde. She explains that he is a guest worn out with fatigue and seeking shelter. Hunding orders a repast and Siegmund tells his story. Vanquished in combat by a neighboring tribe, some of whose adherents he had slain, and stripped of his arms, he fled through the storm for refuge. Hunding promises him hospitality, but challenges him to combat on the morrow, for the victims of Siegmund's wrath were Hunding's friends. As Sieglinde retires at Hunding's bidding, she casts a despairing, passionate look at Siegmund, and tries to direct his attention to a sword sticking in the ash-tree, but in vain. Hunding warns her away with a significant look, and then taking his weapons from the tree leaves Siegmund alone. The latter, sitting by the fire, falls into dejection, but is soon roused by the thought that his sire had promised he should find the sword Nothung in his time of direst need. The dying fire shoots out a sudden flame, and his eye lights upon its handle, illuminated by the blaze. The magnificent sword-melody is sounded, and in a scene of great power he hails it and sings his love for Sieglinde, whom now he can rescue. As the fire and the song die away together, Sieglinde reappears. She has drugged Hunding into a deep sleep, and in an exultant song tells Siegmund the story of the sword. They can be saved if he is strong enough to wrench it from the trunk of the ash. He recognizes his sister and folds her passionately in his arms. The storm has passed, and as the moonlight floods the room he breaks out in one of the loveliest melodies Wagner has ever written, the spring song ("Winterstuerme wichen dem Wonnemond"), a song of love leading to the delights of spring; and Sieglinde in passionate response declares, "Thou art the spring for which I longed in winter's frosty embrace." The recognition is mutual, not alone of brother and sister but of lover and mistress,—the union which is destined to beget Siegfried, the hero. Seizing her in his arms, Siegmund disappears with her into the depths of the forest, and the curtain falls.

The second act opens in the mountains of the gods, and discloses Wotan with spear in hand in earnest converse with Bruennhilde, his daughter, who is arrayed in the armor of a Valkyr. He tells her of the approaching combat, and bids her award the victory to Siegmund the Volsung, beloved of the gods. As she disappears among the rocks, shouting the weird cry of the Valkyres, the jealous Fricka, protector of marriage vows, comes upon the scene in a chariot drawn by rams. A stormy dialogue occurs between them, Fricka demanding the death of Siegmund as compensation for the wrong done to Hunding. Wotan at last is overcome, and consents that the Valkyres shall conduct him to Walhalla. As he yields, Bruennhilde's jubilant song is heard on the heights, and Wotan summons her and announces his changed decision. Siegmund must perish. As he stalks gloomily away among the rocks, Bruennhilde falls into deep dejection, and turns away moaning: "Alas! my Volsung! Has it come to this,—that faithless the faithful must fail thee?" As she enters a cave for her horse, the fugitives Siegmund and Sieglinde hurriedly approach, pursued by the infuriated Hunding. They stop to rest, and Sieglinde falls exhausted in his arms. The scene is marked by alternations of passionate love and fear, hope on the one side, despair on the other, vividly portrayed in the instrumentation. As the music dies away and Sieglinde rests insensible in his arms, Bruennhilde, with deep melancholy in her visage, shows herself to Siegmund. In reply to his question, "Who art thou?" she answers, "He who beholds me, to death in the battle is doomed. I shall lead thee to Walhalla." Eagerly he asks, "Shall I find in Walhalla my own father Waelse?" and she answers, "The Volsung shall find his father there." With passionate earnestness he asks, "Shall Siegmund there embrace Sieglinde?" The Valkyre replies, "The air of earth she still must breathe. Sieglinde shall not see Siegmund there." Then furiously answers Siegmund, "Then farewell to Walhalla! Where Sieglinde lives, in bliss or blight, there Siegmund will also tarry," and he raises his sword over his unconscious sister. Moved by his great love and sorrow, Bruennhilde for the first time is swayed by human emotions, and exultantly declares, "I will protect thee." Hunding's horn sounds in the distance, and soon is heard his defiant challenge to battle. Siegmund rushes to the top of one of the cloudy summits, and the clash of their arms resounds in the mists. A sudden gleam of light shows Bruennhilde hovering over Siegmund, and protecting him with her shield. As he prepares himself to deal a deadly thrust at Hunding, the angry Wotan appears in a storm-cloud and interposes his spear. Siegmund's sword is shivered to pieces. Hunding pierces his disarmed enemy, and he falls mortally wounded. Bruennhilde lifts the insensible Sieglinde upon her steed and rides away with her. Wotan, leaning upon his spear, gazes sorrowfully at the dying Volsung, and then turning to Hunding, so overcomes him with his contemptuous glance that he falls dead at his feet. "But Bruennhilde, woe to the traitor. Punishment dire is due to her treason. To horse, then. Let vengeance speed swiftly." And mounting his steed he disappears amid thunder and lightning.

The last act opens in a rocky glen filled with the Valkyres calling to each other from summit to summit with wild cries as they come riding through the clouds after the combat, bearing the dead bodies of the warriors on their saddles. The scene is preluded with an orchestral number, well known in the concert-room as the "Ride of the Valkyres," which is based upon two motives, the Valkyre's call and the Valkyre melody. In picturesque description of the rush and dash of steeds, amid which are heard the wild cries of the sisters, "The Ride" is one of the most powerful numbers ever written. Bruennhilde arrives among the exultant throng in tears, bearing Sieglinde with her. She gives her the fragments of Siegmund's sword, and appeals to the other Valkyres to save her. She bids Sieglinde live, for "thou art to give birth to a Volsung," and to keep the fragments of the sword. "He that once brandishes the sword, newly welded, let him be named Siegfried, the winner of victory." Wotan's voice is now heard angrily shouting through the storm-clouds, and calling upon Bruennhilde, who vainly seeks to conceal herself among her sisters. He summons her forth from the group, and she comes forward meekly but firmly and awaits her punishment. He taxes her with violating his commands; to which she replies, "I obeyed not thy order, but thy secret wish." The answer does not avail, and he condemns her to sleep by the wayside, the victim of the first who passes. She passionately pleads for protection against dishonor, and the god consents. Placing her upon a rocky couch and kissing her brow, he takes his farewell of her in a scene which for majestic pathos has never been excelled. One forgets Wotan and the Valkyre. It is the last parting of an earthly father and daughter, illustrated with music which is the very apotheosis of grief. He then conjures Loge, the god of fire; and as he strikes his spear upon the rock, flames spring up all about her. Proudly he sings in the midst of the glare:—

"Who fears the spike Of my spear to face, He will not pierce the planted fire,"—

a melody which is to form the motive of the hero Siegfried in the next division of the work—and the curtain falls upon a scene which for power, beauty, and majesty has not its equal on the lyric stage.