Chapter I: Pagliacci (5)

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.

SIEGFRIED.

The second division of the tragedy, "Siegfried," might well be called an idyl, of the forest. Its music is full of joyousness and delight. In place of the struggles of gods and combats of fierce warriors, the wild cries of Valkyres and the blendings of human passions with divine angers, we have the repose and serenity of nature, and in the midst of it all appears the hero Siegfried, true child of the woods, and as full of wild joyousness and exultant strength as one of their fauns or satyrs. It is a wonderful picture of nature, closing with an ecstatic, vision of love.

After the death of Siegmund, Sieglinde takes refuge in the depths of the forest, where she gives birth to Siegfried. In her dying moments she intrusts him to Mime, who forged the ring for Alberich when he obtained possession of the Rhinegold. The young hero has developed into a handsome, manly stripling, who dominates the forests and holds its wild animals subject to his will. He calls to the birds and they answer him. He chases the deer with leaps as swift as their own. He seizes the bear and drags him into Mime's hut, much to the Nibelung's alarm. But while pursuing the wild, free life in the forest, he has dreams of greater conquests than those over nature. Heroic deeds shape themselves in his mind, and sometimes they are illuminated with dim and mysterious visions of a deeper passion. In his interviews with Mime he questions him about the world outside of the forest, its people and their actions. He tires of the woods, and longs to get away from them. Mime then shows him the fragments of his father's sword, which had been shattered upon Wotan's spear, the only legacy left her son by Sieglinde, and tells him that he who can weld them together again will have power to conquer all before him. Mime had long tried to forge a sword for Siegfried, but they were all too brittle, nor had he the skill to weld together the fragments of Siegmund's sword, Nothung. The only one who can perform that task is the hero without fear. One day Siegfried returns from a hunting expedition and undertakes it himself. He files the fragments into dust and throws it into the crucible, which he places on the fire of the forge. Then while blowing the bellows he sings a triumphant song ("Nothung! Nothung! neidliches Schwert"), which anticipates the climax towards which all the previous scenes have led. As he sings at his work Mime cogitates how he shall thwart his plans and get possession of the sword. He plots to have him kill Fafner, the giant, who has changed himself into a dragon, for the more effectual custody of the Rhine-treasure and the ring. Then when Siegfried has captured the treasure he will drug him with a poisoned broth, kill him with the sword, and seize the gold. Siegfried pours the melted steel into a mould, thrusts it into the water to cool, and then bursts out into a new song, accompanied by anvil blows, as he forges and tempers it, the motive of which has already been heard in the "Rhinegold" prelude, when Alberich made his threat. While Mime quietly mixes his potion, Siegfried fastens the hilt to his blade and polishes the sword. Then breaking out in a new song, in which are heard the motives of the fire-god and the sword, he swings it through the air, and bringing it down with force splits the anvil in twain. The music accompanying this great scene, imitating the various sounds of the forge, the flutter of the fire, the hissing of the water, the filing of the sword, and the blows upon the anvil, is realism carried to the very extreme of possibilities.

The great exploit has been successful, and Siegfried at last has Siegmund's sword. Mime takes him to the cave where Fafner, the giant-dragon, guards the gold. Siegfried slays the monster, and laughs over the ease of the task. His finger is heated with the dragon's blood, and as he puts it to his lips to cool it he tastes the blood, and thus learns the language of the birds. He cares nought for the treasure, and takes only the ring and a magic helmet, which enables the wearer to assume any form. After the contest he throws himself at the foot of a tree in the forest and dreamily listens to the "Waldweben," the rustle and mysterious stirrings of the woods. Amid all these subtle, soothing sounds, pierced now and then with the songs of the birds, and distant cries in far-away sylvan recesses, he realizes that he is alone, while his old companions of the woods are together. He thinks of the mother whom he has never known, and of that mysterious being whom he has never seen, who should make the companionship he observes among the birds. The passion of love begins to assert itself vaguely and strangely, but full soon it will glow out with ardent flame. A bird flying over his head sings to him. He can understand its song and fancies it his mother's voice coming to him in the bird-notes. It tells him now he has the treasure, he should save the most beautiful of women and win her to himself. "She sleeps upon a rock, encircled with flames; but shouldst thou dare to break through them, the warrior-virgin is thine." The bird wings its flight through the forest, and Siegfried, joyously seizing his sword, follows it with swift foot, for he knows it is guiding him to Bruennhilde. The time for great deeds has come. The wild, free life of the forest is over.

The third act once more shows us the god Wotan still plunged in gloom. Gazing into a deep abyss, he summons Erda, who knows the destiny of all the world, to question her again as to the twilight of the gods. The mysterious figure appears at his bidding, but has nothing further to communicate. Their doom is certain. The fearless race of men is destined to efface the gods, and Walhalla must disappear. The hero is at hand, and coming rapidly. The despairing Wotan, who appears in this scene as "Der Wanderer" (the wanderer), cries out, "So be it. It is to this end I aspire." He turns gloomily away, and confronts Siegfried bounding from rock to rock like a deer, still following his airy guide. The god angrily tries to bar his way, but in vain. His lance is shattered at a single blow of the sword Nothung, which he himself had once so easily shivered. It is the first catastrophe of the final fate which is approaching. The hero without fear has come, the free will of man has begun to manifest itself. The power of the gods is breaking. Joyously Siegfried rushes on over the rocks. He is soon bathed in the glow of the fire, which casts weird shadows through the wild glen. Now the burning wall of red flames is before him. With a ringing cry of exultation he dashes through them, and before him lies the sleeping maiden in her glistening armor. Mad with her beauty and his own overpowering passion, he springs to her side and wakes her with a kiss. The Volsung and the Valkyr gaze at each other a long time in silence. Bruennhilde strives to comprehend her situation, and to recall the events that led up to her penalty, while love grows within her for the hero who has rescued her, and Siegfried is transfixed by the majesty of the maiden. As she comes to herself and fully realizes who is the hero before her and foresees the approaching doom, she earnestly appeals to him:--