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A R T E S S C E N T L A V E R T. A s




STORIES
OF
THE WAGNER OPERA.
RICHARI)
WAGNER.

STORIES
THE WAGNER OPERA.
By
4×g:..
48.
H: A: GUERBER,
ğuthor of
“MyTHs of GREECE AND Rome,” “MYTHs of NorthERN
LANDS,” “contes ET LÉGENDES,” ETC.
l
º
NEW YORK :
DODD, MEAD, AND COMPANY.
1898.
Copyright, 1895,
By DoDD, MEAD AND ComPANY.
Čámidersity #3ttgg:
John WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
*
13
s
HBenitated to mp frientſ,
M. A. MCC.
P R E F A C E.
HESE short sketches, which can be read in
a few moments' time, are intended to give
the reader as clear as possible an outline of the
great dramatist-composer's work. -
The author is deeply indebted to Professor
G. T. Dippold, to Messrs. Forman, Jackman,
and Corder, and to the Oliver Ditson Company,
for the poetical quotations scattered throughout
the text. -
CO N T ENTS.
PAGE
RIENZI, THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES . . . . . 7
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN . . . . . . . . . . 23
TANNHAUSER º e gº g * o & e e iº e e & e 38
LOHENGRIN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56
TRISTAN AND Y SOLDE . . . . . . . . . . . 72
THE MASTER-SINGERS OF NUREMBERG . . . . 88
THE NIBELUNG’s RING. — RHEINGOLD . . . . Io 5
THE WALKYRIE . . . . . . . . . . . . . I2O
SIEGFRIED . . . . . . . . . [38
DUSK OF THE GODS ite-4ex. • , . . . . I 54
PARSIFAL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 172
ILLUSTRATION S.
PAGE
RICHARD WAGNER . . . . . . . . . . Frontásáčece
BANISHMENT OF RIENZI . . . . . . . . . . 7
SENTA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
TANNHAUSER AND VENUS . . . . . . . . . 38
ORTRUD KNEELING BEFORE ELSA . . . . . . 56
TRISTAN'S DEATH . . . . . . . . . . . . 72
WALTHER CROWNED BY EVA . . . . . . . . 88
THE RHINE MAIDENS . . . . . . . . . . . IO 5
BRUNHILDE DISCOVERING SIEGMUND AND SIEG-
LIN DE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I2O
SIEGFRIED AND MIME . . . . . . . . . . I38
SIEGFRIED AND THE RHINE MAIDENS . . . . I 54
PARSIFAL IN THE ENCHANTED GARDEN . . . . I72
BANISHMENT OF RIENZI.
tº />
C-F .
º, cº

S TO RIES
OF THE
WAG N E R O PERA.
RIE NZ I,
THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES.
WAGNER was greatly troubled in the be-
ginning of his career about the choice of
subjects for his operas. His first famous work,
‘ Rienzi,’ is founded upon the same historical
basis as Bulwer's novel bearing the same name,
and is a tragic opera in five acts. The composer
wrote the poem and the first two acts of the
score in 1838, during his residence at Riga, and
from there carried it with him to Boulogne.
There he had an interview with Meyerbeer,
after his memorable sea journey. Wagner sub-
mitted his libretto and the score for the first
acts to that famous composer, who is reported
to have said, ‘Rienzi is the best opera-book
extant,' and who gave him introductions to
musical directors and publishers in Paris. In
8 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
spite of this encouraging verdict on Meyerbeer's
part, Wagner soon discovered that there was no
chance of success for ‘Rienzi' in France, and,
after completing the score while dwelling at
Meudon, he forwarded it in 1841 to Dresden.
Here the opera found friends in the tenor Ti-
chatscheck and the chorus-master Fisher, and
when it was produced in 1842 it was received
with great enthusiasm. The opera, which gave
ample opportunity for great Scenic display, was
so long, however, that the first representation
lasted from six o'clock to midnight. But when
Wagner would fain have made excisions, the
artists themselves strenuously opposed him, and
preferred to give the opera in two successive
evenings. At the third representation Wagner
himself conducted with such success that “he
was the hero of the day.’ This great triumph
was reviewed with envy by the admirers of the
Italian school of music, and some critics went
so far in their partisanship as to denounce the
score as ‘blatant, and at times almost vulgar.”
Notwithstanding these adverse criticisms, the
opera continued to be played with much success
at Dresden, and was produced at Berlin some
years later, and at Vienna in 1871.
As Wagner's subsequent efforts have greatly
surpassed this first work, ‘Rienzi' is not often
Rienzi. 9
played, and has seldom been produced in Amer-
ica, I believe owing principally to its great length.
The scene of “Rienzi' is laid entirely in the
streets and Capitol of Rome, in the middle of
the fourteenth century, when the city was ren-
dered unsafe by the constant dissensions and
brawls among the noble families. Foremost
among these conflicting elements were the rival
houses of Colonna and Orsini, and, as in those
days each nobleman kept an armed retinue within
a fortified enclosure in town, he soon became
a despot. Fearing no one, consulting only his
own pleasure and convenience, he daily Sallied
forth to plunder, kidnap, and murder at his will.
Such being the state of affairs, the streets daily
flowed with blood ; the merchants no longer
dared open their shops and expose their wares
lest they should be summarily carried away,
and young and pretty women scarcely dared
venture out of their houses even at noonday,
lest they should be seen and carried away by
noblemen.
Terrified by the lawlessness of the barons,
whom he could no longer control, the Pope left
Rome and took refuge at Avignon, leaving the
ancient city a helpless prey to the various polit-
ical factions which were engaged in continual
strife. This state of affairs was so heart-rending
IO Stories of the Wagner Opera,
that Rienzi, an unusually clever man of the
people and an enthusiast, resolved to try and
rouse the old patriotic spirit in the breast of the
degenerate Romans, and to induce them to rise
up against their oppressors and shake off their
hated yoke.
Naturally a scholar and a dreamer, Rienzi
would probably never have seen the necessity
of such a thing, or ventured to attempt it, had
he not seen his own little brother wantonly
slain during one of the usual frays between the
Orsini and Colonna factions. The murderer, a
Scion of the Colonna family, considered the mat-
ter as so trivial that he never even condescended
to excuse himself, or to offer any redress to the
injured parties, thus filling Rienzi's heart with
a bitter hatred against all the patrician race.
Secretly and in silence the young enthusiast
matured his revolutionary plans, winning many
adherents by his irresistible eloquence, and
patiently bided his time until a suitable oppor-
tunity occurred to rally his partisans, openly
defy the all-powerful barons, and restore the
old freedom and prosperity to Rome.
The opera opens at nightfall, with one of the
scenes so common in those days, an attempt
on the part of the Orsini to carry off by force
a beautiful girl from the presumably safe shelter
Rienzi. I I
of her own home. The street is silent and de-
serted, the armed band steal noiselessly along,
place their scaling ladder under the fair one's
casement, and the head of the Orsini, climbing
up, seizes her and tries to carry her off in spite
of her frantic cries and entreaties.
The noise attracts the attention of Adrian,
heir of the Colonna family, and when he per-
ceives that the would-be kidnappers wear the
arms and livery of the Orsini, his hereditary
foes, he seizes with joyful alacrity the opportu-
nity to fight, and pounces upon them with all his
escort. A confused street skirmish ensues, in
the course of which Adrian rescues the beautiful
maiden, whom he recognises as Irene, Rienzi's
only sister. Attracted by the brawl, the people
crowd around the combatants, cheering and de-
riding them with discordant cries, and becoming
so excited that they refuse to disperse when
the Pope's Legate appears and timidly implores
them to keep the peace.
The tumult has reached a climax when Rienzi
Suddenly comes upon the scene, and authori-
tatively reminds his adherents that they have
sworn to respect the law and the Church, and
bids them withdraw. His words, received with
enthusiastic cries of approbation by the people,
are, however, scorned by the barons, who
I 2 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
would fain continue the Strife, but are forced to
desist. Anxious to renew hostilities as soon as
possible, and to decide the question of Supremacy
by the force of arms, the irate noblemen then
and there appoint a time and place for a general
encounter outside the city gates on the morrow,
when they reluctantly disperse.
The appointment has been overheard by
Rienzi, who, urged by the Legate of the Pope
and by the clamours of the people to strike a
decisive blow, decides to close the gates upon
the nobles on the morrow, and to allow none
to re-enter the city until they have taken a
Solemn oath to keep the peace and respect the
law. In an impassioned discourse Rienzi then
urges the people to uphold him now that the
decisive moment has come, and to rally promptly
around him at the sound of his trumpet, which
will peal forth on the morrow to proclaim the
freedom of Rome.
When they have all gone in obedience to his
command, the Tribune, for such is the dignity
which the people have conferred upon their
champion Rienzi, turns toward the girl, the
innocent cause of all the uproar, and perceives
for the first time that it is his own sister Irene.
Adrian is bending anxiously over her fainting
form ; but as soon as she recovers her senses
Rienzi. I3
she hastens to inform her brother that he saved
her from Orsini's shameful attempt, and bespeaks
his fervent thanks for her young protector.
It is then only that the Tribune realises that
a Colonna, one of his bitterest foes, and one of
the most influential among the hated barons,
has overheard his instructions to his adherents,
and can defeat his most secret and long cherished
plans. Suddenly, however, he remembers that
in youth he and Adrian often played together,
and, counting upon the young nobleman's deep
sense of honour, which he had frequently tested
in the past, he passionately adjures him to show
himself a true Roman and help him to save his
unhappy country. Irene fervently joins in this
appeal, and such is the influence of her beauty
and distress that Adrian, who is very patriotic
and who has long wished to see the city resume
its former Splendour, gladly consents to lend
his aid.
This oath of allegiance received, Rienzi,
whom matters of state call elsewhere, asks
Adrian to remain in his house during his ab-
sence, to protect his sister against a renewal
of the evening's outrage. Adrian joyfully ac-
cepts this charge, and the lovers, for they have
been such from the very first glance exchanged,
remain alone together and unite in a touching
I4. Stories of the Wagner Opera.
duet of faith and love, whose beautiful, peaceful
strains contrast oddly with the preceding dis-
cordant strife. In spite of his transport at find-
ing his affections returned, and in the very
midst of his rapturous joy at embracing his be-
loved, Adrian, tortured by premonitory fears,
warns Irene that her brother is far too sanguine
of success, and that his hopes will surely be de-
ceived. He also declares that he fears lest the
proverbially fickle people may waver in their
promised allegiance, and lest Rienzi may be the
victim of the cruel barons whom he has now
openly defied. The lovers’ conversation is
interrupted at sunrise by the ringing of the
Capitol bell, proclaiming that the revolution has
begun, and the triumphant chorus of priests and
people is heard without, bidding all the Romans
rejoice as their freedom is now assured. Riding
ahead of the procession, Rienzi slowly passes by
in the glittering armour and array of a Tribune,
and from time to time pauses to address the
crowd, telling them that the ancient city is once
more free, and that he, as chief magistrate, will
severely punish any and every infringement of
the law. At the news of this welcome procla-
mation the enthusiasm of the people reaches
such an exalted pitch that they all loudly swear
to obey their Tribune implicitly, and loyally help
Rienzi. I5
him to uphold the might and dignity of the Holy
City : —
“We swear to thee that great and free
Our Rome shall be as once of yore ;
“To protect it from tyranny
We 'll shed the last drop of our gore.
Shame and destruction now we vow
To all the enemies of Rome;
A new free people are we now,
And we’ll defend our hearth and home.”
The scene of the second act is laid in the
Capitol, where the barons, who had been forced
to take the oath of allegiance ere they were
allowed to re-enter the city, are present, as well
as the numerous emissaries from foreign courts.
Heralds and messengers from all parts of the
land crowd eagerly around the Tribune, anxious
to do him homage, and to assure him that,
thanks to his decrees, order and peace are now
restored.
Amid the general silence the heralds make
their reports, declaring that the roads are safe,
all brigandage suppressed, commerce and agri-
culture more flourishing than ever before, a
statement which Rienzi and the people receive
with every demonstration of great joy. To the
barons, however, these are very unwelcome
tidings, and, knowing that the people could soon
I6 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
be cowed were they only deprived of their
powerful leader, they gather together in one
corner of the hall and plot how to put Rienzi to
death.
Adrian accidentally discovers this conspiracy,
and indignantly remonstrates with the barons,
threatening even to denounce them, since they
are about to break their word and resort to such
dishonourable means. But his own father, Co-
lonna, is one of the instigators of the conspiracy,
and he dares him to carry out his threat, which
would only result in branding him as a parricide.
Then, without waiting to hear his son's decision,
the old baron, accompanied by the other con-
spirators, joins Rienzi on the balcony, whence he
has just addressed the assembled people. They
have been listening to his last proposal, that the
Romans should shake off the galling yoke of the
German Empire and make their city a republic
once more, and now loud and enthusiastic ac-
clamations rend the air.
The speech ended, Adrian, stealing softly
behind the Tribune, bids him be on the watch
as treachery is lurking near. He has scarcely
ended his warning and slipped away ere the
conspirators suddenly surround the Tribune,
and there, in the presence of the assembled
people, they simultaneously draw their daggers,
Rienzi. 17
and strike him repeatedly. This dastardly at-
tempt at murder utterly fails, however, as the
Tribune wears a corselet of mail beneath the
robes of state, and his guards quickly disarm
and secure the conspirators while the people
loudly clamour for their execution by the axe, a
burly blacksmith, Cecco, acting as their prin-
cipal spokesman.
Rienzi, who is principally incensed by their
attack upon Roman liberties, and by their utter
lack of faith, is about to yield to their demand,
when Irene and Adrian suddenly fall at his feet,
imploring the pardon of the condemned, and
entreating him to show mercy rather than justice.
Once more Rienzi addresses the people, but it
requires all his persuasive eloquence to induce
them, at last, to forgive the barons' attempt.
Then the culprits are summoned into the
Tribune's august presence, where, instead of
being executed as they fully expect, they are
pardoned and set free, after they have once
more solemnly pledged themselves to respect
the new government and its chosen representa-
tives. This promise is wrung from them by
the force of circumstances; they have no in-
tention of keeping it, and they are no sooner
released than they utter dark threats of revenge,
which fill the people's hearts with ominous fear,
2
I8 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
and make them regret the clemency they have
just shown.
The next act is played on one of the public
squares of Rome, where the people are tumultu-
ously assembled to discuss the secret flight of
the barons. They have fled from the city dur-
ing the night, and, in spite of their recently
renewed oaths, are even now preparing to
re-enter the city with fire and sword, and to
resume their former supremacy. In frantic ter-
ror, the people call upon Rienzi to deliver them,
declaring that, had he only been firm and exe-
cuted the nobles, Rome would now have no
need to fear their wrath. Adrian, coming upon
the spot as they march off toward the Capitol,
anxiously deliberates what course he shall pur-
sue, and bitterly reviles fate, which forces him
either to bear arms against his own father and
kin, or to turn traitor and slay the Tribune, the
brother of his fair beloved. While he thus
soliloquises in his despair, Rienzi appears on
horseback, escorted by the Roman troops, all
loudly chanting a battle song, of which the con-
stant refrain is the Tribune's rallying cry, ‘Santo
Spirito Cavaliere !' They are on their way to
the city gates, where the assembled forces of
the barons await them, and Adrian, in a last
frantic attempt to prevent bloodshed, throws
Rienzi. I9
himself in front of Rienzi's horse, imploring the
Tribune to allow him to try once more to con-
ciliate the rebel nobles. But Rienzi utterly
refuses to yield again to his entreaties, and
marches calmly on, accompanied by the people
chanting the last verse of their solemn war-song.
The fourth act is played in front of the Lat-
eran church. The battle has taken place. The
barons have been repulsed at the cost of great
slaughter. But notwithstanding their losses and
the death of their leader, the elder Colonna,
the nobles have not relinquished all hope of
success. What they failed to secure by the
force of arms, they now hope to win by intrigue,
for they have artfully won not only the Pope,
but the Emperor also, to uphold their cause
and side with them. The people, who have just
learned that the Pope and Emperor have recalled
their legates and ambassadors, are awed and
frightened. Baroncelli and Cecco, two dema-
gogues, seize this occasion to poison their fickle
minds, and blame Rienzi openly for all that has
occurred. Their specious reasoning that the
Tribune must be very wicked indeed, since the
Spiritual and temporal authorities alike disap-
prove of him, is strengthened by the sudden
appearance of Adrian, who, wild with grief at
his father's death, publicly declares he has vowed
2O Stories of the Wagner Opera.
to slay the Tribune. The people — who, lacking
the strength to uphold their convictions, now hate
their leader as vehemently as they once loved
and admired him — are about to join Adrian in
his passionate cry of ‘Down with Rienzi ' '
when the cardinal and his train suddenly appear,
and march into the church, where a grand ‘Te
Deum' is to be sung to celebrate the victory
over the barons. -
While the Romans are wavering, and wonder-
ing whether they have not made a mistake, and
whether the Pope really disapproves of their
chief magistrate, Rienzi marches toward the
church, accompanied by Irene and his body
guard. Adrian, at the sight of his pale beloved,
has no longer the courage to execute his pur-
pose and slay her only brother. Just as they
are about to enter the church, where they ex-
pect to hear the joyful strains of thanksgiving,
the cardinal appears at the church door, bar-
ring their entrance, and solemnly pronounces
the Church’s anathema upon the horror-struck
Rienzi.
The people all start back and withdraw from
him as from one accursed, while Adrian, Seizing
Irene's hand, seeks to lead her away from her
brother. But the brave girl resists her lover's
offers and entreaties, and, clinging closely to the
Rienzi. 2 I
unhappy Tribune, she declares she will never
forsake him, while he vows he will never relin-
quish his hope that Rome may eventually re-
cover her wonted freedom, and again shake off
the tyrant's yoke.
The fifth and last act is begun in the Capitol,
where Rienzi, the enthusiast, is wrapped in
prayer, and forgetting himself entirely, fervently
implores Divine protection for his misguided
people and unhappy city. He has scarcely
ended this beautiful prayer when Irene joins
him, and, when he once more beseeches her to
leave him, she declares she will never forsake
him, even though by clinging to him she must
renounce her love, – a passion which he has
never known. At this declaration, Rienzi in a
passionate outburst tells how deeply he has
loved and still loves his mistress, Rome, fallen
and degraded though she may be. He loves her,
although she has broken faith with him, has
turned to listen to the blandishments of another,
and basely deserted him at the time of his ut-
most need.
Irene, touched by his grief, bids him not give
way to despair, but adjures him to make a last
attempt to regain his old ascendency over the
minds of the fickle people. As he leaves her to
follow her advice, Adrian enters the hall, wildly
22 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
imploring her to escape while there is yet time,
for the infuriated Romans are coming, not only
to slay Rienzi, but to burn down the Capitol
which has sheltered him.
As she utterly refuses to listen to his en-
treaties, he vainly seeks to drag her away. It
is only when the lurid light of the devouring
flames illumines the hall, and when she sinks
unconscious to the floor, that he can bear her
away from a place fraught with so much danger
for them all. Rienzi, in the mean while, has
stepped out on the balcony, whence he has
made repeated but futile attempts to address the
mob. Baroncelli and Cecco, fearing lest he
should yet succeed in turning the tide by his
marvellous eloquence, drown his voice by dis-
cordant cries, fling stones which fall all around
his motionless figure like hail, and clamour for
more fuel to burn down the Capitol, which they
have sworn shall be his funeral pyre. Calmly
now Rienzi contemplates their fury and his un-
avoidable death, and solemnly predicts that they
will regret their precipitancy, as the Capitol falls
into ruins over the noble head of the Last of the
Tribunes.
SENTA.
Gº
ºne

THE FLYING DUTCHMAN.
AFTER leaving Riga, where he had accepted .
the position of Music Director, which he
filled acceptably for some time, Wagner went to
Pillau, where he embarked on a sailing vessel
bound for London. He was accompanied by
his wife and by a huge Newfoundland dog, and
during this journey learned to know the sea,
and became familiar with the sound of the sailors'
Songs, the creaking of the rigging, the whistling
of the wind, and the roar and crash of the waves.
This journey made a deep impression upon his
imagination. He had read Heine's version of
the legend of the Flying Dutchman, and ques-
tioned the sailors, who told him many similar
yarns. He himself subsequently said: ‘I shall
never forget that voyage ; it lasted three weeks
and a half, and was rich in disasters. Three
times we suffered from the effects of heavy
storms. The passage through the Narrows
made a wondrous impression on my fancy. The
legend of the Flying Dutchman was confirmed
24 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
by the Sailors, and the circumstances gave it a
distinct and characteristic colour in my mind.”
One year later, when in Paris, Wagner sub-
mitted detailed sketches for this work to the
Director of the Opera, to whom Meyerbeer had
introduced him. The sketches were accepted,
and shortly after the Director expressed a wish
to purchase them. Wagner utterly refused at
first to give up his claim to the plot, which he
had secured from Heine ; but, finding that he
could not obtain possession of the sketches,
which had already been given to Foucher for
versification, he accepted the miserable sum of
24, 20, which was all that was offered in compen-
sation. The stolen opera was produced in Paris
under the title of “Le Vaisseau Fantôme,” in
1842, but it was never very successful, and has
been entirely eclipsed by Wagner's version.
Wagner had not, however, relinquished the idea
of writing an opera upon this theme, and he fin-
ished the poem, which Spohr has designated as
“a little masterpiece,’ as quickly as possible.
The score was written at Meudon, near Paris,
and completed, with the exception of the over-
ture, in the short space of seven weeks. When
offered in Munich and Leipsic the critics pro-
nounced it “unfit for Germany,’ but, upon
Meyerbeer's recommendation, it was accepted
The Flying Dutchman. 25
at Berlin, although no preparations were made
for its immediate representation.
“The Flying Dutchman' was first brought out
at Dresden in 1843, four years after the idea of
this work had first suggested itself to the illus-
trious composer, who conducted the orchestra
in person, while Madame Schröder-Devrient
sang the part of Senta. The audience did not
receive it very enthusiastically, and, while some
of the hearers were deeply moved, the majority
were simply astonished. No one at first seemed
to appreciate the opera at its full value except
Spohr, who in connection with it wrote: “Der
Fliegende Holländer interests me in the highest
degree. The opera is imaginative, of noble in-
vention, well written for the voices, immensely
difficult, rather overdone as regards instrumen-
tation, but full of novel effects; at the theatre
it is sure to prove clear and intelligible. . . . I
have come to the conclusion that among com-
posers for the stage, pro tem., Wagner is the
most gifted.”
The legend upon which the whole opera is
based is that a Dutch captain once tried to
double the Cape of Good Hope in the teeth of
a gale, Swearing he would accomplish his pur-
pose even if he had to plough the main forever.
This rash oath was overheard by Satan, who
26 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
condemned him to sail until the Judgment Day,
unless he could find a woman who would love
him faithfully until death. Once in every seven
years only did the Devil allow the Dutchman to
land, in search of the maiden who might effect
his release.
In the first act of the opera, the seven years
have just ended, and Daland, a Norwegian cap-
tain, has been forced by a tempest to anchor his
vessel in a sheltered bay within a few miles of
his peaceful home, where Senta, his only daugh-
ter, awaits him. All on board are sleeping, and
the steersman alone keeps watch over the an-
chored vessel, singing of the maiden he loves
and of the gifts he is bringing her from foreign
lands. In the midst of his song, the Flying
Dutchman's black-masted vessel with its red
sails enters the cove, and casts anchor beside
the Norwegian ship, although no one seems
aware of its approach.
The Dutchman, who has not noticed the vessel
at anchor so near him, springs eagerly ashore,
breathing a sigh of relief at being allowed to
land once more, although he has but little hope
of finding the faithful woman who alone can
release him from his frightful doom : —
“The term is past,
And once again are ended the seven long years!
The Flying Dutchman. 27
The weary sea casts me upon the land.
Hal haughty ocean,
A little while, and thou again wilt bear me.
Though thou art changeful,
Unchanging is my doom ;
Release, which on the land I seek for,
Never shall I meet with.”
The unhappy wanderer then tells how he has
braved the dangers of every sea, sought death
on every rock, challenged every pirate, and how
vain all his efforts have been to find the death
which always eludes him.
Daland, waking from his sound slumbers, Sud-
denly perceives the anchored vessel, and chides
the drowsy steersman, who has not warned him
of its approach. He is about to signal to the
ship to ascertain its name, when he suddenly
perceives the Dutchman, whom he questions
concerning his home and destination.
The Dutchman answers his questions very
briefly, and, upon hearing that Daland's home
is very near, eagerly offers untold wealth for
permission to linger a few hours by his fireside,
and to taste the joys of home.
Amazed at the sight of the treasures spread
out before him, Daland not only consents to
show hospitality to this strange homeless guest,
but even promises, after a little persuasion, to
28 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
allow him to woo and to win, if he can, the
affections of his only daughter, Senta : —
“I give thee here my word.
I mourn thy lot. As thou art bountiful,
Thou showest me thy good and noble heart.
My son I wish thou wert;
And were thy wealth not half as great,
I would not choose another.’
Transported with joy at the mere prospect of
winning the love which may compass his salva-
tion, the Flying Dutchman proclaims in song
his mingled rapture and relief, and while he
sings the Storm clouds break, and the sun again
shines forth over the mysteriously calmed sea.
The opportunity is immediately seized by the
Norwegian captain, who, bidding the Dutch-
man follow him closely, bids the sailors raise the
anchor, and sails out of the little harbour to the
merry accompaniment of a nautical chorus : —
“Through thunder and storm from distant seas,
My maiden, come I near ;
Over towering waves, with southern breeze,
My maiden, am I here.
My maiden, were there no south wind,
I never could come to thee:
O fair south wind, to me be kind 1
My maiden, she longs for me.
Hoho I Hallohol ’
The Flying Dutchman. 29
The next scene represents a room in Daland's
house. The rough walls are covered with maps
and charts, and on the farther partition there is
a striking portrait of a pale, melancholy looking
man, who wears a dark beard and a foreign
dress. -
The air is resonant with the continual hum of
the whirling spinning-wheels, for the maidens
are all working diligently under the direction of
Maria, the housekeeper, and soon begin their
usual spinning chorus. Their hands and feet
work busily while two verses of the song are
sung, and all are remarkably diligent except
Senta, who sits with her hands in her lap, gazing
in rapt attention at the portrait of the Flying
Dutchman, whose mournful fate has touched her
tender heart, and whose haunting eyes have
made her indulge in many a long day-dream.
Roused from her abstraction by the chiding voice
of Mary, and by her companions, who twit her
with having fallen in love with a shadow instead
of thinking only of her lover Erik, the hunter,
Senta resumes her work, and to still their chatter
sings them the ballad of the Flying Dutchman.
When she has described his aimless wanderings
and his mournful doom, which naught can change
until he finds a maiden who will pledge him her
entire faith, the girls mockingly interrupt her to
3O Stories of the Wagner Opera.
inquire whether she would have the courage to
love an outcast and to follow a spectral wooer.
But when Senta passionately declares she would
do it gladly, and ends by fervently praying that
he may soon appear to put her love and faith
to the test, they are almost as much alarmed as
Erik, who enters the room in time to hear this
enthusiastic outburst.
Turning to Mary, the housekeeper, he informs
her that Daland's ship has just sailed into the
harbour in company with another vessel, whose
captain and crew he doubtless means to enter-
tain. At these tidings the wheels are all set
aside, and the maidens hasten to help prepare
the food for the customary feast. Senta alone
remains seated by her wheel, and Erik, placing
himself beside her, implores her not to leave
him for another, but to put an end to his sorrows
by promising to become his wife. His eloquent
pleading has no effect upon her, however, and
when he tries to deride her fancy for the pic-
tured face, and to awaken her pity for him by
describing his own sufferings, she scornfully
compares them to the Dutchman's unhappy
fate : —
* Oh, vaunt it not
What can thy sorrow be 2
Know'st thou the fate of that unhappy man f
The Flying Dutchman. 3 I
Look, canst thou feel the pain, the grief,
With which his gaze on me he bends?
Ah l when I think he has ne'er found relief,
How sharp a pang my bosom rends ! ”
Erik, beside himself with jealousy, finally tells
her that he has had an ominous dream, in which
he saw her greet the dark stranger, embrace him
tenderly, and even follow him out to sea, where
she was lost. But all this pleading only makes
Senta more obstinate in her refusal of his atten-
tions, and more eager to behold the object of
her romantic attachment, who at that very mo-
ment enters the house, following her father,
who greets her tenderly. The sudden appari-
tion of the stranger, whose resemblance to the
portrait is very striking, robs Senta of all com-
posure, and it is only when her father has gently
reproved her for her cold behaviour that she
bids him welcome.
Daland then explains to his daughter that his
guest is a wanderer and an exile, although well
provided with this world's goods, and asks her
whether she would be willing to listen to his woo-
ing, and would consent to ratify his conditional
promise by giving the stranger her hand : —
‘Wilt thou, my child, accord our guest a friendly welcome,
And wilt thou also let him share thy kindly heart 2
32 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
Give him thy hand, for bridegroom it is thine to call him,
If thou but give consent, to-morrow his thou art.”
Wholly uninfluenced by the description of
the stranger's wealth which her father gives her,
but entirely won by the Flying Dutchman's
timidly expressed hope that she will not refuse
him the blessing he has so long and so vainly
sought, Senta hesitates no longer, but generously
promises to become his wife, whatever fate may
await her : —
‘Whoe'er thou art, where'er thy curse may lead thee,
And me, when I thy lot mine own have made, –
Whate'er the fate which I with thee may share in,
My father's will by me shall be obeyed.’
This promise at first fills the heart of the Fly-
ing Dutchman with the utmost rapture, for he is
thinking only of himself, and of his release from
the curse, but soon he begins to love the inno-
cent maiden through whom alone he can find
rest. Then he also remembers that, if she fail,
she too will be accursed, and, instead of urging
her as before, he now tries to dissuade her from
becoming his wife by depicting life at his side
in the most unenticing colours, and by warning
her that she must die if her faith should waver.
Senta, undeterred by all these statements, and
eager if necessary to sacrifice herself for her be-
The Flying Dutchman. 33
loved, again offers to follow him, and once more
a rapturous thrill passes through his heart : —
“SENTA.
Here is my hand I will not rue,
But e'en to death will I be true.
THE DUTCHMAN.
She gives her hand 1 I conquer you,
Dread powers of Hell, while she is true.”
Daland returns into the room in time to see that
they have agreed to marry, and proposes that
their wedding should take place immediately,
and be celebrated at the same time as the feast
which he generally gives all his sailors at the end
of a happy journey. e
The third act of this opera represents both
ships riding at anchor in a rocky bay, near which
rises Daland's picturesque Norwegian cottage.
All is life and animation on board the Norwe-
gian vessel, where the Sailors are dancing and
singing in chorus, but the black-masted ship
appears deserted, and is as quiet as the tomb.
When the sailors have ended their chorus, the
pretty peasant girls come trooping down to the
shore, bringing food and drink for both crews,
which they hail from the shore. The Norwe-
gian Sailors promptly respond to their call, and,
3
34 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
hastening ashore, they receive their share of the
feast ; but the phantom vessel remains as lifeless
as before. In vain the girls offer the provisions
they have brought, in vain the other crew taunt
the sleepers, there is no answer given. The
provisions are then all bestowed upon the Nor-
wegians, who eat and drink most heartily ere
they resume their merry chorus. Suddenly,
however, the Dutch sailors rouse themselves,
appear on deck, and prepare to depart, while
singing about their captain, who has once more
gone ashore in search of the faithful wife who
alone can save him. Blue flames hover over the
phantom ship, and the sound of a coming storm
is borne upon the breeze. The Norwegian
sailors sing louder than ever to drown this omi-
nous sound, but they are soon too alarmed to
sing, and hasten into their cabins making the
sign of the cross, which evokes a burst of demo-
niac laughter from the phantom crew.
The storm and lights subside as quickly and
mysteriously as they appeared, and all is quiet
once more as Senta comes down to the shore.
Erik, meeting her, implores her to listen to his
wooing, which once found favour, and to forget
the stranger whom her father has induced her
to accept on such short notice. Senta listens
patiently to his plea, which does not in the least
The Flying Dutchman. 35
shake her faith in her new lover, or change her
resolution to live and die for him alone. But
the Dutchman, appearing suddenly, mistakes
her patience for regret, and, almost frantic with
love and despair, he bids her a passionate fare-
well and rushes off toward his ship.
*To sea l To sea till time is ended !
Thy sacred promise be forgot,
Thy sacred promise and my fate |
Farewell ! I wish not to destroy thee!’
But Senta has not ceased to love him. She
runs after him, imploring him to remain with her,
protesting her fidelity and renewing her vows in
spite of Erik's passionate efforts to prevent her
from doing so. The Flying Dutchman at first
refuses to listen to her words, and rapidly gives
his orders for departure. She is about to em-
bark, when he suddenly turns toward her and
declares that he is accursed, and that she has
saved herself, by timely withdrawal, from the
doom which awaits all those who fail to keep
their troth : —
‘Now hear, and learn the fate from which thou wilt be
saved :
Condemned am I to bear a frightful fortune, –
Ten times would death appear a brighter lot.
A woman's hand alone the curse can lighten,
If she will love me, and till death be true.
36 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
Still to be faithful thou hast vowed,
Yet has not God thy promise 2
This rescues thee; for know, unhappy, what a fate is theirs
Who break the troth which they to me have plighted:
Endless damnation is their doom
Victims untold have fallen 'neath this curse through me.
Yet, Senta, thou shalt escape.
Farewell I All hope is fled forevermore.”
But Senta has known from the very beginning
who this dark wooer was, and is so intent upon
saving him from his fate that she fears no danger
for herself. Passionately she clings to him,
protesting her affection, and when he looses her,
and Erik would fain detain her by force, she
struggles frantically to follow him.
Erik's cry brings Daland, Mary, and the
Chorus to the rescue, and they too strive to re-
strain Senta, when they hear the stranger pro-
claim from the deck of his phantom ship that he
is the Scourge of the Sea, – the Flying Dutch-
man. The vessel sails away from the harbour.
Senta escapes from her friends, and rushes to a
projecting cliff, whence she casts herself reck-
lessly into the seething waves, intent only upon
showing her love and saving him, and thereby
proving herself faithful unto death : —
“Praise thou thine angel for what he saith;
Here stand I, faithful, yea, till death !”
The Flying Dutchman. 37
As Senta sinks beneath the waves the phan-
tom vessel vanishes also, and as the storm abates
and the rosy evening clouds appear in the west
the transfigured forms of Senta and the Flying
Dutchman hover for a moment over the wreck,
and, rising slowly, float upward and out of
sight, embracing each other, for her faithful love
has indeed accomplished his salvation, and his
spirit may now be at rest.
TANNHAUSER.
IN 1829, when Wagner was only sixteen years
of age, he first became acquainted, through
Hoffmann's novels, with the story of the master-
singers of Nürnberg, and with the mediaeval
legend of Tannhäuser, as versified by Ludwig
Tieck. The “mystical coquetry and frivolous
catholicism ' of this modern poem repelled him,
and it was not until twelve years later, when
he chanced upon a popular version of the same
story, that he was struck by its dramatic possi-
bilities. A chance mention of the Sängerkrieg
of the Wartburg in this version made him trace
the legend as far back as possible, and in doing
so he came across an old poem of Lohengrin,
and read Eschenbach’s “Titurel ' and ‘Parzival,’
which were to serve as basis for two other great
operas. The sketch of the opera of ‘Tann-
häuser’ was completed in 1842, at Teplitz, dur-
ing an excursion in the Bohemian mountains ;
but the whole score was not finished until three
years later. Wagner had gone over it all so
carefully that it was printed without much
TANNHAUSER AND venus.

Tannhäuser. 39
revision, and he had even written the piano
score, which was sent to Berlin in 1845 and
appeared in the same year that the opera was
produced at Dresden.
Madame Schröder-Devrient, whom Wagner
had in his mind in writing the part of Venus,
sang that rôle, but, in spite of all her talent, the
first performance was not a success. She wrote
to Wagner concerning it, and said, ‘You are a
man of genius, but you write such eccentric Stuff
it is hardly possible to sing it.’ The public in
general, accustomed to light operas with happy
endings, was dismayed at the Sad and tragical
termination, and, while some of the best musical
authorities of the day applauded, others criti-
cised the work unsparingly. Schumann alone
seems to have realised the force of the author's
new style, for he wrote, ‘On the whole, Wag-
ner may become of great importance and signifi-
cance to the stage,’—a doubtful prediction which
was only triumphantly verified many years after-
ward. Like many of the mediaeval legends, the
story of Tannhäuser is connected with the ancient
Teutonic religion, which declared that Holda,
the Northern Venus, had set up her enchanted
abode in the hollow mountain known as the
Hörselberg, where she entertained her devotees
with all the pleasures of love. When the mis-
4O Stories of the Wagner Opera.
sionaries came preaching Christianity, they dili-
gently taught the people that all these heathen
divinities were demons, and although Holda and
her court were not forgotten, she became a
type of Sensual love. Tannhäuser, a minstrel
of note, who has won many prizes for his songs,
hearing of the wondrous underground palace
and of its manifold charm, voluntarily enters
the mountain, and abandons himself to the fair
goddess's wiles. Here he spends a whole year
in her company, surrounded by her train of loves
and nymphs, yielding to all her enchantments,
which at first intoxicate his poetic and beauty
loving Soul.
But at last the sensual pleasures in which he
has been steeped begin to pall upon his jaded
senses. He longs to tear himself away from
the enchantress, and to return to the mingled
pleasure and pain of earth.
The first scene of the opera represents the
charmed grotto where Venus gently seeks to
beguile the discontented knight, while nymphs,
loves, bacchantes, and lovers whirl about in the
graceful mazes of the dance, or pose in charm-
ing attitudes. Seeing Tannhäuser's abstraction
and evident sadness, Venus artfully questions
him, and when he confesses his homesickness,
and his intense longing to revisit the earth, she
Tannhäuser. 4. I
again tries to dazzle him, and cast a glamour
over all his senses, so as to make him utterly
oblivious of all but her.
Temporarily intoxicated by her charms, Tann-
hauser, when called upon to tune his lyre, bursts
forth into a song extolling her beauty and fasci-
nation ; but even before the lay is ended the
longing to depart again seizes him, and he pas-
sionately entreats her to release him from her
thrall : —
‘’T is freedom I must win or die, –
For freedom I can all defy ;
To strife or glory forth I go,
Come life or death, come joy or woe,
No more in bondage will I sigh I
O queen, beloved goddess, let me fly l’
Thus adjured, and seeing her power is tempo-
rarily ended, Venus haughtily dismisses her slave,
warning him that he returns to earth in vain, as
he has forfeited all chance of salvation by linger-
ing with her, and bidding him return without
fear when the intolerance of man has made him
weary of life upon earth.
A sudden change of Scene occurs. At a sign
from Venus, the grotto and its voluptuous fig-
ures disappear; the roseate light makes way
for the glaring sunshine, and Tannhäuser, who
has not moved, suddenly finds himself upon the
42 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
hillside, near the highroad and the shrine of the
Virgin, and within sight of the Wartburg castle,
where he formerly dwelt and won many a prize
for his beautiful songs. The summer silence is
at first broken only by the soft notes of a shep-
herd singing a popular ballad about Holda, the
Northern Venus, who issues yearly from the
mountain to herald the spring, but as he ceases
a band of pilgrims slowly comes into view.
These holy wanderers are all clad in penitential
robes, and, as they slowly wend their way down
the hill and past the shrine, they chant a psalm
praying for the forgiveness of their sins. The
shepherd calls to them asking them to pray for
him in Rome, and, as they pass out of sight, still
singing, Tannhäuser, overcome with remorse for
his misspent years, sinks down on his knees
before the Virgin's shrine, humbly imploring for-
giveness for his sins : —
‘Oh, see my heart by grief oppressed
I faint, I sink beneath the burden
Nor will I cease, nor will I rest,
Till heavenly mercy grants me pardon.”
While he is still kneeling there, absorbed in
prayer, the Landgrave and his minstrel knights
appear in hunting costume. Their attention is
attracted by the bowed figure of the knight, and
Tannhäuser. 43
when he raises his head they recognise him as
their former companion. Some of the minstrels,
jealous of his past triumphs, would fain regard
him as their foe, but, influenced by one of their
number, Wolfram von Eschenbach, they wel-
come him kindly and ask him where he has been.
Tannhäuser, only partly roused from his half
lethargic State, dreamily answers that he has
long been tarrying in a land where he found
neither peace nor rest, and in answer to their
invitation to join them in the Wartburg declares
he cannot stay, but must wander on forever.
Wolfram, seeing him about to depart once more,
then reminds him of Elizabeth, the fair chatelaine
of the Wartburg, and when he sees that, although
Tannhäuser trembles at the mere sound of the
name of the maiden he once loved, he will never-
theless depart, he asks and obtains the Land-
grave's permission to reveal a long kept secret.
Wolfram himself has long loved the fair Eliza-
beth, but such is his unselfish devotion that he
would fain see her happy even with a rival. To
win the light back to her eyes and the smile to
her lips, he now tells Tannhäuser how she has
drooped ever since he went away, and gener-
ously confesses that she took pleasure in his
music only, and has persistently avoided the
minstrel hall since his departure. His eloquent
44 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
pleading touches Tannhäuser's reawakening
heart, and he finally consents to accompany
the Landgrave and his minstrels back to the
Wartburg. Hither they now make their way
on foot and on horseback, singing a triumphal
chorus : —
‘He doth return, no more to wander;
Our loved and lost is ours again.
All praise and thanks to those we render
Who could persuade, and not in vain.
Now let your harps indite a measure
Of all that hero's hand may dare,
Of all that poet's heart can pleasure,
Before the fairest of the fair.’
The second act is played in the great hall of
the Wartburg castle, which is festively decorated,
for the minstrels are again to contend for the
prize of song, a laurel wreath which will again
be bestowed as of yore by the fair hands of the
beloved Princess Elizabeth. As the curtain
rises she is alone in the hall, no longer pale and
wan, but radiant with happiness, for she knows
that Tannhäuser, her lover, has returned, and
she momentarily expects him to appear. While
she is greeting the well known hall, the scene
of her lover's former triumphs, with a rapturous
little outburst of song, the door suddenly opens
and Wolfram appears, leading the penitent Tann-
Tannhäuser. 45
häuser, who rushes forward and falls at Eliza-
beth's feet, while his friend discreetly withdraws.
Elizabeth would fain raise the knight, telling
him it is unbecoming for him to assume so
humble an attitude beneath the roof where he
has triumphed over all rivals, and she tenderly
asks where he has lingered so long. Tann-
häuser, ashamed of the past, and absorbed in
the present, declares that he has been far away,
in the land of oblivion, where he has forgotten
all Save her alone : —
‘Far away in strange and distant regions,
And between yesterday and to-day oblivion's veil hath
fallen.
Every remembrance hath forever vanished,
Save one thing only, rising from the darkness, –
That I then dared not hope I should behold thee,
Nor ever raise mine eyes to thy perfection.’
Elizabeth is so happy to see him once more,
so ready to forgive him at the very first word of
repentance, that Tannhäuser cannot but see how
dearly she loves him, and they soon unite in a
duet of complete bliss, rejoicing openly over
their reunion, and vowing to love each other
forever, and never to part again.
The Landgrave appears just as their song is
ended, to congratulate Elizabeth upon having at
last left her seclusion and honoured the minstrels
46 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
with her presence. In conclusion, he declares
that, as all the contestants know she will be there
to bestow the prize, the rivalry will be greater
than ever. He is interrupted in this speech,
however, by the entrance of knights and nobles,
who file in singing a chorus in praise of the
noble hall, and of Hermann, Landgrave of Thu-
ringia, the patron of song, whom they repeatedly
cheer. When they have all taken their appointed
places, the Landgrave, rising in his seat, addresses
them, bidding them welcome, reminding them
of the high aims of their art, and telling them
that, while the theme he is about to propose for
their lays is love, the princess herself will bestow
as prize whatever the winner may ask : —
“Therefore hear now the theme you all shall sing.
Say, what is love 2 by what signs shall we know it 2
This be your theme. Whoso most nobly this can tell,
Him shall the princess give the prize.
He may demand the fairest guerdon :
I vouch that whatsoe'er he ask is granted.
Up, then, arouse yel sing, O gallant minstrels 1
Attune your harps to love. Great is the prize.”
At the summons of the heralds, Wolfram won
Eschenbach first takes up the strain, and as for
him love is an ardent desire to see the loved
one happy, a longing to sacrifice himself if need
be, and an attitude of worshipful devotion, he
Tannhäuser. 47
naturally sings an exalted strain. It finds favour
with all his hearers, – with all except Tann-
häuser, who, having tasted of the passionate joys
of unholy love, cannot understand the purity of
Wolfram's lay, which he stigmatises as cold and
unsatisfactory.
In his turn, he now attunes his harp to love,
and sings a voluptuous strain, which not only
contrasts oddly with Wolfram's performance, but
shows love merely as a passion, a gratification
of the senses. The minstrels, jealous for their
art, indignantly interrupt him, and one even
challenges Tannhäuser to mortal combat: —
• ‘To mortal combat I defy thee I
Shameless blasphemer, draw thy sword I
As brother henceforth we deny thee:
Thy words profane too long we've heard I
If I of love divine have spoken,
Its glorious spell shall be unbroken
Strength’ning in valour, sword and heart,
Altho' from life this hour I part.
For womanhood and noble honour
Through death and danger I would go ;
But for the cheap delights that won thee
I scorn them as worth not one blow l’
This minstrel's sentiments are loudly echoed
by all the knights present, who, having been
trained in the school of chivalry, have an exalted
48 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
conception of love, hold all women in high hon-
our, and deeply resent the attempt just made
to degrade them. Tannhäuser, whose once
pure and noble nature has been perverted and
degraded by the year spent with Venus, cannot
Wonger understand the exalted pleasures of true
love, even though he has just won the heart of
a peerless and spotless maiden, and when Wolf-
ram, hoping to allay the Strife, again resumes his
former strain, he impatiently interrupts him.
Recklessly now, and entirely wrapped up in
the recollection of the unholy pleasures of the
past, Tannhäuser exalts the goddess of Love,
with whom he has revelled in bliss, and boldly
reveals the fact that he has been tarrying with
her in her subterranean grove.
This confession fills the hearts of all present
with nameless terror, for the priests have taught
them that the heathen deities are demons dis-
guised. The minstrels one and all fall upon
Tannhäuser, who is saved from immediate death
at their hands only by the prompt intervention
of Elizabeth.
Broken-hearted, for now she knows the utter
unworthiness of the man to whom she has given
her heart, yet loving him still and hoping he
may in time win forgiveness for his sin, she
pleads so eloquently for him that all fall back.
Tannhäuser. 49
The Landgrave, addressing him, then solemnly
bids him repent, and join the pilgrims on their
way to Rome, where perchance the Pope may
grant him absolution for his sin : —
‘One path alone can save thee from perdition,
From everlasting woe, – by earth abandon'd,
One way is left: that way thou now shalt know.
A band of pilgrims now assembled
From every part of my domain;
This morn the elders went before them,
The rest yet in the vale remain.
'Tis not for crimes like thine they tremble,
And leave their country, friends and home, –
Desire for heav'nly grace is o'er them:
They seek the sacred shrine at Rome.’
Urged to depart by the Landgrave, knights,
nobles, and even by the pale and sorrowful Eliz-
abeth, Tannhäuser eagerly acquiesces, for now
that the sudden spell of sensuous love has de-
parted, he ardently longs to free his soul from the
burden of sin. The pilgrims' chant again falls
upon his ear, and, sobered and repentant, Tann-
häuser joins them to journey on foot to Rome,
kneeling at every shrine by the way, and de-
voutly praying for the forgiveness and ultimate
absolution of his sins.
When the curtain rises upon the third and
last act of this opera, one whole year has slowly
4
50 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
passed, during which no tidings of the pilgrims
have been received. It is now time for their
return, and they are daily expected by their
friends, who have ardently been praying that
they may come home, shrived and happy, to
spend the remainder of their lives at home in
peace. No one has prayed as fervently as the
fair Elizabeth, who, forgetting her wonted splen-
dour, has daily wended her way down the hill-
side, to kneel on the rude stones in front of the
Virgin's wayside shrine. There she has daily
prayed for Tannhäuser's happy return, and there
she kneels absorbed in prayer when Wolfram
comes down the path as usual. He has not for-
gotten his love for her, which is as deep and
self-sacrificing as ever, so he too prays that her
lover may soon return from Rome, entirely ab-
solved, and wipe away her constant tears. Eliz-
abeth is suddenly roused from her devotions
by the distant chant of the returning pilgrims.
They sing of sins forgiven, and of the peace won
by their long, painful journey to Rome. Singing
thus they slowly file past Wolfram and Eliza-
beth, who eagerly scan every face in search of
one whom they cannot discover.
When all have passed by, Elizabeth, realising
that she will see her beloved no more, sinks slowly
down on her knees, and, raising her despairing
Tannhäuser. 5 I
eyes to the image of the Virgin. Then she sol-
emnly dedicates the remainder of her life to her
exclusive service, in the hope that Tannhäuser
may yet be forgiven, and prays that death may
soon come to ease her pain and bring her heart
eternal peace : —
“O blessed Virgin, hear my prayerſ
Thou star of glory, look on me !
Here in the dust I bend before thee,
Now from this earth oh set me free
Let me, a maiden, pure and white,
Enter into thy kingdom bright !
If vain desires and earthly longing
Have turn'd my heart from thee away,
The sinful hopes within me thronging
Before thy blessed feet I lay.
I’ll wrestle with the love I cherish’d,
Until in death its flame hath perish’d.
If of my sin thou wilt not shrive me,
Yet in this hour, oh grant thy aid
Till thy eternal peace thou give me,
I vow to live and die thy maid.
And on thy bounty I will call,
That heav'nly grace on him may fall.”
This prayer ended, the broken-hearted Eliza-
beth slowly totters away, while Wolfram von
Eschenbach, who has seen by her pallid face
and wasted frame that the death she prays for
will not tarry long, sorrowfully realises at last
that all his love can save her no pang.
52 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
When the evening shadows have fallen, and the
stars illumine the sky, he is still lingering by the
holy shrine where Elizabeth has breathed her
last prayer. The silence of the night is suddenly
broken by the Sound of his harp, as he gives
vent to his sorrow by an invocation to the stars,
among which his lady-love is going to dwell ere-
long, and as he sings the last notes a pilgrim
slowly draws near. Wolfram does not at first
recognise his old friend and rival Tannhäuser in
this dejected, foot-sore traveller; but when he
sees the worn face he anxiously inquires whether
he has been absolved, and warns him against
venturing within the precincts of the Wartburg
unless he has received Papal pardon for his
sins.
Tannhäuser, instead of answering this query,
merely asks him to point out the path, which he
once found so easily, the path leading to the
Venus hill, and only when Wolfram renews his
questions does he vouchsafe him a brief account
of his journey to Rome. He tells how he
trod the roughest roads barefooted, how he
journeyed through heat and cold, eschewing all
comforts and alleviation of his hard lot, how he
knelt penitently before every shrine, and how
fervently he prayed for the forgiveness of the
sin which had darkened not only his life but
Tannhäuser. 53
that of his beloved. Then, in faltering tones,
he relates how the Pope shrank from him upon
hearing that he had sojourned for a year in the
Venus hill, and how sternly he declared there
could be no more hope of pardon for such a sin
than to see his withered Staff blossom and bear
leaves : —
“If thou hast shar'd the joys of Hell,
If thou unholy flames hast nurs'd
That in the hill of Venus dwell,
Thou art for evermore accurs’d
And as this barren staff I hold
Ne'er will put forth a flower or leaf,
Thus shalt thou never more behold
Salvation or thy sin’s relief.”
Tannhäuser now passionately describes his
utter despair, after hearing this awful verdict,
his weary homeward journey, and his firm deter-
mination, since he is utterly debarred from ever
seeing Elizabeth again, either in this world or
in the next, to hasten back to the hill of Venus,
where he can at least deaden his remorse with
pleasure, and steep his sinful soul in sensual
love. In vain Wolfram pleads with him not to
give up all hope of ultimate Salvation, and still
to repent of his former sin; he insists upon re-
turning to the enchantress who warned him of
the intolerance of man, and whom he now calls
54 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
upon to guide his steps to the entrance of her
abode. -
This invocation does not remain unheard by
the fair goddess of beauty. She appears in the
distance with her shadowy train, singing her old
alluring song, and welcoming him back to her
realm. Tannhäuser is about to obey her beckon-
ing hand, and to hasten after her in the direction
of the Hörselberg, when the sound of a funeral
chant falls upon his ear. A long procession is
slowly winding down the hill. The mourners
are carrying the body of the fair Elizabeth, who
has died of grief, to its last resting place.
While Tannhäuser, forgetting all else, is gaz-
ing spellbound at the waxen features of his be-
loved, thus slowly borne down the hill, Wolfram
tells him how the pure maiden interceded for
him in her last prayer on earth, and declares that
he knows her innocent soul is now pleading for
his forgiveness at the foot of the heavenly throne.
This hope of salvation brings such relief to
Tannhäuser's tormented heart, that he turns his
back upon Venus, who, realising her prey has
escaped, suddenly vanishes in the Hörselberg
with all her demon train.
Kneeling by Elizabeth's bier, Tannhäuser fer-
Vently prays for forgiveness, until the bystanders,
touched by his remorse, assure him that he will
Tannhäuser. 55
be forgiven,_an assurance which is confirmed as
he breathes his last, by the arrival of the Pope's
messenger. He appears, bearing the withered
staff, which has miraculously budded and has
burst forth into blossoms and leaves : —
“The Lord himself now thy bondage hath riven.
Go, enter in with the blest in His heaven.’
LOHEN GRIN.
DURING a summer vacation at Teplitz in
Bohemia, in 1845, Wagner wrote the first
sketch of the opera of Lohengrin.” The poem
was written at Dresden in 1845, but the score
was finished only in 1848. The opera was first
performed at Weimar in 1850, under the leader-
ship of Liszt, who was greatly interested in it,
and determined to make it a success.
The poet composer had taken the idea for
this poem from a mediaeval legend, based upon
the old Greek myth of Cupid and Psyche. Its
poetical and musical possibilities immediately
struck him, and when the opera was first played
to an audience composed of musical and literary
people from all parts of Europe, whom Liszt had
invited to be present, it produced ‘a powerful
impression.” From the memorable night of
its first performance dates the success of the
Wagner movement in Germany.’ During the
next nine years this opera was given in fourteen
different cities, and Wagner, who was then a
political exile, is reported to have sadly re-
ORTRUD KNEELING BEFORE ELSA.
Gº 't
º, º

Lohengrin. 57
marked, ‘I shall soon be the only German who
has not heard Lohengrin.” It was in 1861,
eleven years after its first performance, that he
finally heard it for the first time in Vienna.
This opera won for Wagner not only lasting
fame, but also the enthusiastic admiration of the
young Ludwig of Bavaria. Such was the im-
pression this work made upon the young prince,
who first heard it when he was only sixteen,
that he resolved to do all in his power to help
the composer. Three years later he succeeded
to the throne of Bavaria as Ludwig II., and one
of the first independent acts of his reign was to
send a messenger to invite the master to come
and dwell at his court, and to assure him a yearly
pension from his private purse. The young king
was so infatuated with the story of ‘Lohengrin
that he not only had his residence decorated
with paintings and statues representing differ-
ent episodes of the opera, but used also to sail
about his lake, dressed in the Swan Knight's
costume, in a boat drawn by ingeniously con-
trived mechanical Swans. The story of this
opera is as follows : —
Henry I., the Fowler, Emperor of Germany,
about to make war against the Hungarians
who threaten to invade his realm, comes to
Antwerp to collect his troops, and to remind
58 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
all the noblemen of Brabant of their allegiance
to him.
The opera opens with the trumpet call of the
heralds, and by Henry's speech to the assembled
noblemen, who enthusiastically promise him the
support of their oft-tried arms. The king, who
is pleased with their readiness to serve him, then
informs them that he has heard rumours of trouble
in their midst, and that by right of his office as
high justice of the realm he would fain bring
peace among them. He therefore summons
Frederick of Telramund, the guardian of the
dukedom of Brabant, to state the cause of dis-
sension. This nobleman relates how the dying
Duke of Brabant confided his children, Elsa
and Godfrey, to his care, how tenderly he
watched over them, and how much sorrow he
felt when the young heir, having gone out in
the forest to walk with his sister one day, failed
to return. Frederick of Telramund then goes
on, and tells how he could not but suspect Elsa
of her brother's murder. He had therefore
renounced her hand, which he had once hoped
to win, had married Ortrud, daughter of Radbod,
the heathen king and former possessor of all this
tract of land, which he now claims as his own
by right of inheritance.
The people at first refuse to believe his dark
Lohengrin. 59
accusation against Elsa ; but when Frederick
declares she murdered her brother so as to be-
come sole mistress of the duchy, and to bestow
it upon some unworthy lover, the king sends for
the maiden, and, hanging his shield upon an oak,
declares he will not depart until he has tried
this cause : —
* HERALD.
Now shall the cause be tried as ancient use requires.
KING.
Never again my shield to wear
Till judgment is pronounced, I swear.”
The people receive this decree with joy, and
the men, drawing their swords, thrust them into
the ground as they form a circle around the
king. These preparations for a solemn court of
justice are scarcely ended when Elsa appears,
all in white, and attended by her ladies, who
stand in the background while she timidly ad-
vances and stands before the king. Her
youth, beauty, and apparent innocence produce
a great effect, not only upon the bystanders,
but also upon the king, who gently begins to
question her.
But, instead of answering him, the fair maiden
merely bows and wrings her hands, exclaiming,
6O Stories of the Wagner Opera.
‘My hapless brother l’ until the king implores
her to confide in him. Suddenly her tongue is
loosened, and she begins to sing, as if in a
trance, of a vision with which she has been
favoured, wherein a handsome knight had been
sent by Heaven to become her champion : —
“I saw in splendour shining
A knight of glorious mien,
On me his eye inclining
With tranquil gaze serene;
A horn of gold beside him,
He leant upon his sword.
Thus when I erst espied him
"Mid clouds of light he soared ;
His words so low and tender
Brought life renewed to me.
My guardian, my defender,
Thou shalt my guardian be.”
These words and the maiden's rapt and inno-
cent look are so impressive, that the king and
people utterly refuse to believe the maiden
guilty of crime, until Frederick of Telramund
boldly offers to prove the truth of his assertion
by fighting against any champion whom she may
choose. Elsa accepts this proposal gladly, for
she hopes her heaven-sent champion may ap-
pear. The lists are immediately prepared, while
the herald calls aloud : —
Lohengrin. 6H
* He who in right of Heaven comes here to fight
For Elsa of Brabant, step forth at once.”
The first call remains unanswered ; but, at
Elsa's request, the king commands a second to
to be made, while she sinks on her knees and
ardently begins praying for her champion's ap-
pearance. Her prayer is scarcely ended when
the men along the bank become aware of the
approach of a snowy Swan, drawing a little skiff,
in which a handsome young knight in full armour
stands erect.
Amid the general silence of the amazed spec-
tators, Lohengrin, the Swan Knight, springs
ashore, and, turning to his Swan, dismisses it
in a beautiful song, one of the gems of this
opera : —
“I give thee thanks, my faithful swan.
Turn thee again and breast the tide;
Return unto that land of dawn
Where joyous we did long abide.
Well thy appointed task is done.
Farewell, my trusty swan.’
Then, while the swan slowly sails down the
river and out of sight, the Swan Knight an-
nounces to the king that he has come as Elsa's
champion, and, turning to her, asks whether
she will be his wife if he proves victorious. Elsa
62 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
gladly promises him her hand, nor does she even
offer to withdraw this promise when he tells her
that she must trust him entirely, and never ask
who he is or whence he comes : —
“Say, dost thou understand me P
Never, as thou dost love me,
Aught shall to question move thee
From whence to thee I came,
Or what my race and name.’
Elsa faithfully promises to remember all
these injunctions, and bids him do battle for
her, whereupon he challenges Telramund, with
whom he begins fighting at a given signal.
The Swan Knight soon defeats his enemy, who
is thus convicted of perjury by the judgment of
God, but he magnanimously refuses to take
his life.
Then, turning to Elsa, who thanks him pas-
sionately for Saving her, he clasps her in his
arms, while Telramund and Ortrud, his wife,
bewail their disgrace, for, according to the iaw
of the land, they are doomed to poverty and
exile. Their sorrow, however, is quite unheeded
by the enthusiastic spectators, who set Elsa and
Lohengrin upon their shields, and then bear
them off in triumph, to the glad accompaniment
of martial strains : —
Lohengrin. 63
* CHORUS.
We sing to thee, – we praise thee,
To highest honour raise thee.
Stranger, we here greet thee delighted.
Wrong thou hast righted;
We gladly greet thee here.
Thee, thee we sing alone. Thy name shall live in story.
Oh, never will be one to rival thee in glory !”
It is night when the curtain rises upon the
second act; the knights are still revelling in
the part of the palace they occupy, while the
women's apartments are dark and still. The
street is deserted, and on the steps of the cathe-
dral sit Frederick and Ortrud, who have been
despoiled of their rich garments, and are now
clad like beggars.
Frederick, who feels his disgrace, bitterly re-
proaches his wife for having blasted his career,
and seeks to induce her to depart with him ere
day breaks; but Ortrud refuses to go. She is
not yet conquered, and passionately bids him
rouse himself, and listen to her plan, if he would
recover his honour, retrieve his fortunes, and
avenge himself for his public defeat. She first
persuades him that the Swan Knight won the
victory by magic arts only, which was an un-
pardonable offence, and then declares that, if
Elsa could only be prevailed upon to disobey
64 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
her champion's injunctions and ask his name,
the spell which protects him would soon be
broken, and he would soon become their
prey.
Telramund, overjoyed at the prospect of wip-
ing out his disgrace, acquiesces eagerly, and
as Elsa just then appears at her window and
softly apostrophises the evening breeze, Ortrud
creeps out of the shadow and timidly ad-
dresses her, simulating a distress she is far from
feeling.
Moved by compassion at the sight of the
haughty woman thus laid low, and touched by
the pretended repentance she shows, Elsa, whom
happiness has made even more tender than
usual, eagerly hastens down with two of her at-
tendants, and, opening the door, bids her come
in, promising to intercede in her behalf on the
morrow. During the subsequent brief conver-
sation Ortrud artfully manages to make Elsa
vaguely uneasy, and to sow in her innocent
mind the first seeds of suspicion.
Frederick of Telramund, in the mean while,
has watched his wife disappear with Elsa, and,
hiding in a niche of the old church, he sees the
gradual approach of day, and hears the herald
proclaiming through the streets the Emperor's
ban upon him : —
Lohengrin. 65
° Our king's august decree through all the lands
I here make known, – mark well what he commands:
Beneath a ban he lays Count Telramund
For tempting Heaven with traitorous intent.
Whoe'er shall harbour or companion him
By right shall share his doom with life and limb.”
The unhappy man also hears the herald announce
Elsa's coming marriage with the heaven-sent
Swan Knight, and grimly tells the bystanders
he will soon unmask the traitor. A few min-
utes later, when he has returned to his hiding
place, he sees Elsa appear in bridal array, fol-
lowed by her women, and by Ortrud, who is
very richly clad. But at the church door Ortrud
insolently presses in front of Elsa, claiming the
right of precedence as her due, and taunting her
for marrying a man who has won her by magic
arts only, and whose name and origin she does
not even know.
This altercation is interrupted by the appear-
ance of the king and his attendants, among
whom is the Swan Knight. He hastens to Elsa's
side, while the monarch imperiously demands
the cause of strife. Lohengrin tenderly ques-
tions Elsa, who tells him all. As Ortrud's ven-
omous insinuations have had no apparent effect
upon her, he is about to lead her into the church,
when Telramund suddenly steps forward, loudly
5
66 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
declaring that the Swan Knight overcame him
by sorcery, and imploring Elsa not to believe a
word he says.
These accusations are, however, dismissed by
the king and his men, since Elsa passionately
refuses to credit them, and the wedding proces-
sion sweeps into the church, followed by the
vindictive glances of Telramund and Ortrud, –
glances which the trembling Elsa alone seems
to perceive.
The third act takes place on that selfsame
evening. The festivities are nearly ended, and
through opposite doors the wedding procession
enters the nuptial chamber to the accompani-
ment of the well known Bridal Chorus. The at-
tendants soon depart, however, leaving Elsa and
Lohengrin to join in a duet of happy married
love. Now that they are alone together for the
first time, Elsa softly begins chiding her lover
for not showing more confidence in her, and
revealing who he is. In spite of his tender
attempts to turn aside the conversation into a
less dangerous channel, she gradually becomes
more importunate : —
‘Oh, make me glad with thy reliance,
Humble me not that bend so low.
Ne'er shalt thou rue thy dear affiance:
Him that I love, oh let me know !’
Lohengrin. 67
Seeing her husband does not yield to her
tender pleading, Elsa then redoubles her caresses.
Her faint suspicions have taken such firm root,
and grow with such rapidity, that she is soon
almost wild with suspense. All his attempts
to soothe her only seem to excite her more,
and suddenly, fancying that she hears the Swan
boat coming to bear him away from her, she
determines to break the magic spell at any
cost, as Ortrud cunningly advised her, and de-
mands his name. Just as Lohengrin is gazing
upon her in heart-rending but mute reproach,
Telramund bursts into the room, with a band of
hired assassins, to take his life. A quick motion
from Elsa, whose trust returns when she sees
her beloved in danger, permits Lohengrin to
parry the first blow with his sword, and Freder-
ick of Telramund soon lies dead upon the floor,
while his accomplices cringe at Lohengrin's
feet imploring his pardon. Day is dawning,
and Lohengrin, after caring tenderly for the
half-fainting Elsa, bids the would-be assassins
bear the corpse into the presence of the king,
where he promises to meet Elsa and satisfy all
her demands : —
‘Bear hence the corpse into the king’s judgment hall.
Into the royal presence lead her,
Arrayed as fits so fair a bride;
68 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
There all she asks I will concede her,
Nor from her knowledge aught will hide.”
At the last scene the king is again near
the river, on his judgment throne, whence he
watches the mustering of the troops which are
to accompany him to the war, and makes a
patriotic speech, to which they gladly respond.
Suddenly, however, the four men appear with
the corpse of Frederick of Telramund, which
they lay at the king's feet, declaring they are
obeying the orders of the new lord of Brabant,
who will soon come to explain all. Before the
king can question further, Elsa appears, pale and
drooping, in spite of her bridal array, and just as
the king is rallying her at wearing so mournful
an expression when her bridegroom is only leav-
ing her for a short time to lead his troops to the
fray, the Swan Knight appears, and is enthusi-
astically welcomed by his men. Sadly he in-
forms them he can no longer lead them on to
victory, and declares that he slew Frederick of
Telramund in self-defence, a crime for which he
is unanimously acquitted.
Then he sadly goes on to relate that Elsa
has already broken her promise, and asked the
fatal question concerning his name and origin.
Proudly he tells them that he has no cause to
Lohengrin. 69
be ashamed of his lineage, as he is Lohengrin,
son of Parsifal, the guardian of the Holy Grail,
sent from the temple on Mount Salvatch to
save and defend Elsa. The only magic he had
used was the power with which the Holy Grail
endowed all its defenders, and which never for-
sook them until they revealed their name : —
* He whom the Grail to be its servant chooses
Is armed henceforth by high invincible might;
All evil craft its power before him loses,
The spirit of the darkness where he dwells takes flight.
Nor will he lose the awful charm it lendeth,
Although he should to distant lands,
When the high cause of virtue he defendeth :
While he's unknown, its spells he still commands.”
Now, he adds, the sacred spell is broken, he can
no longer remain, but is forced to return imme-
diately to the Holy Grail, and in confirmation
of his word the Swan and skiff again appear,
sailing up the river. Tenderly the Swan Knight
now bids the repentant Elsa farewell, gently re-
sisting her passionate attempts to detain him,
and giving her his sword, horn, and ring, which
he bids her bestow upon her brother when he
returns to protect her. This boon is denied
him, because she could not keep faith with him
for one short year, at the end of which time he
7o Stories of the Wagner Opera.
would have been free to reveal his name, and
her missing brother would have been restored
to her by the power of the Holy Grail.
Placing the fainting Elsa in her women's arms,
Lohengrin then goes down toward the swan
boat, amid the loud lamentations of all the
people. One person only is glad to see him
depart, Ortrud, the wife of Telramund, and,
thinking he can no longer interfere, she cruelly
taunts Elsa with her lack of faith, and confesses
that her magic arts and heathen spells have
turned the heir of Brabant into the snowy swan
which is even now drawing the tiny skiff.
These words, which fill the hearts of Elsa and
all the spectators with horror and dismay, are
however overheard by Lohengrin, who, accus-
tomed to rely upon Divine aid in every need,
sinks upon his knees, and is rapt in silent prayer.
Suddenly a beam of heavenly light streams down
upon his upturned face, and the white dove of
the Holy Grail is seen hovering over his head.
Lohengrin, perceiving it, springs to his feet,
looses the golden chain which binds the Swan
to the skiff, and as the snowy bird sinks out of
sight a fair young knight in silver armour rises
out of the stream. Then all perceive that he is
in truth, as Lohengrin proclaims, the missing
Godfrey of Brabant, released from bondage by
Lohengrin. 71
the power of the Holy Grail. Elsa embraces
her brother with joy, the king and nobles gladly
welcome him, and Ortrud sinks fainting to the
ground. Lohengrin, seeing that his beloved
has now a protector, springs into the skiff, whose
chain is caught by the dove, and rapidly drawn
out of sight. As it vanishes, Elsa sinks life-
less to the ground with a last passionate cry of
‘My husband l’ and all gaze mournfully after
him, for they know they will never see Lohen-
grin, the Swan Knight, again.
TRISTAN AND YSOLDE.
IT was in 1854, when still an exile from his
native land, that Wagner, weary of his long
work, ‘The Ring of the Niblungs,’ of which
only the first two parts were completed, con-
ceived the idea of using the legend of Tristan
as basis for a popular opera. Three years later
the poem was finished, but the opera was
played in Munich only in 1865 for the first
tl Ine.
The libretto is based on an ancient Celtic
myth or legend, which was very popular during
the Middle Ages. It was already known in the
seventh century, but whether it originally came
from Wales or Brittany is a disputed point. It
was very widely known, however, and, thanks
to the wandering minstrels, it was translated
into all the Continental idioms, and became the
theme of many poets, even of later times. Since
the days when Godfried of Strasburgh wrote his
version of the story it has been versified by many
others, among whom, in our days, are Mat-
thew Arnold and Swinburne. While the general
TRISTAN's DEATH.

TriStan and YSolde. 73
outline of these various versions remains the
same, the legend has undergone many transfor-
mations, but Wagner has preserved many of
the fundamental ideas of the myth, which is in-
tended to illustrate the overpowering force of
passion. The scene was originally laid in
Ireland, Cornwall, and French Brittany.
Blanchefleur, sister of King Mark of Corn-
wall, falls in love with Rivalin, who dies shortly
after their union. Withdrawing to her hus-
band's castle in Brittany, Blanchefleur gives birth
to a child whom she calls Tristan, as he is the
child of sorrow, and, feeling that she cannot
live much longer, she intrusts him to the care of
her faithful steward, Kurvenal. When the young
hero has reached the age of fifteen, his guardian
takes him over to Cornwall, where King Mark
not only recognises him as his nephew, but also
designates him as his heir.
Tristan has been carefully trained, and is so
expert in the use of his arms that he soon excites
the envy of the courtiers, who are watching for
an opportunity to do him harm. The King of
Cornwall, having been defeated in battle by
the King of Ireland, is obliged to pay him a
yearly tribute, which is collected by Morold, a
huge giant and a relative of the Irish king.
Morold, coming as usual to collect the trib-
74 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
ute money, behaves so insolently that Tristan
resolves to free the country from thraldom by
slaying him. A challenge is given and ac-
cepted, and after a terrible combat, such as the
mediaeval poets love to describe with minute
care, the giant falls, after wounding Tristan with
his poisoned spear.
The King of Cornwall, instead of sending
the wonted tribute to Ireland, now forwards
Morold's head, which is piously preserved by
Ysolde, the Irish princess, who finds in the
wound a fragment of sword by which she hopes
to identify the murderer, and avenge her kins-
man's death.
Tristan, finding that the skill of all the Corn-
wall leeches can give him no relief, decides to
go to Ireland and claim the help of Ysolde the
princess, who, like her mother, is skilled in the
art of healing, and knows the antidote for every
poison. Fearing, however, lest she may seek to
avenge Morold's death, he goes alone, disguised
as a harper, and presents himself before her as
Tantris, a wandering minstrel.
His precarious condition touches Ysolde's
compassionate heart, and she soon uses all her
medical science to accomplish his cure, tenderly
nursing him back to health. While sitting be-
side him one day, she idly draws his sword from
TriStan and YSOlde. 75
the scabbard, and her sharp eyes perceive that
a piece is missing. Comparing the break in the
sword with the fragment in her possession, she is
soon convinced that Morold's murderer is at her
mercy, and she is about to slay her helpless foe
when an imploring glance allays her wrath.
Tristan, having entirely recovered under her
care, takes leave of the fair Ysolde, who has
entirely lost her heart to him, and returns to
Cornwall, where he relates his adventures, and
speaks in such glowing terms of Ysolde's beauty
and goodness that the courtiers finally prevail
upon the king to sue for her hand.
As the courtiers have tried to make the king
believe that his nephew would fain keep him
single lest he should have an heir, Tristan re-
luctantly accepts the commission to bear the
king's proposals and escort the bride to Corn-
wall. Ysolde is of course overjoyed at his re-
turn, for she fancies he reciprocates her love;
but when he makes his errand known, she
proudly conceals her grief, and prepares to ac-
company the embassy to Cornwall, taking with
her her faithful nurse, Brangeane.
The Queen of Ireland, another Ysolde, well
versed in every magic art, then brews a mighty
love potion, which she intrusts to Brangeane's
care, bidding her conceal it in her daughter's
76 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
medicine chest, and administer it to the royal
bride and groom on their wedding night, to in-
sure their future happiness by deep mutual love.
Wagner's opera opens on shipboard, where
Ysolde lies sullen and motionless under a tent,
brooding over her sorrow and nursing her wrath
against Tristan, who has further embittered her
by treating her with the utmost reserve, and
never once approaching her during the whole
journey. The call of the pilot floats over the
sea, and Ysolde, roused from her abstraction,
asks Brangeane where they are. When she
learns that the vessel is already within sight of
Cornwall, where a new love awaits her, Ysolde
gives went to her despair, and openly regrets
that she does not possess her mother's power
over the elements, as she would gladly conjure
a storm which would engulf the vessel and set
her free from a life she abhors.
Brangeane, alarmed at this outburst, vainly
tries to comfort her, and as the vessel draws
near the land she obeys Ysolde's command and
goes to summon Tristan into her presence.
Approaching the young hero, who is at the
helm, the maid delivers her message, but Tris.
tan refuses to comply, under pretext of best
fulfilling his trust by steering the vessel safe ta.
land : — - -
Tristan and YSolde. 77
“In every station
Where I stand
I serve with life and blood
The pearl of womanhood: —
If I the rudder
Rashly left,
Who steer'd then safely the ship
To good King Mark's fair land P’
He further feigns to misunderstand the purport
of her message, by assuring her that the discom-
forts of the journey will soon be over. Kurve-
nal, his companion, incensed by Brangeane's,
persistency, then makes a taunting speech to the
effect that his master Tristan, the slayer of
Morold, is not the vassal of any queen, and the
nurse returns to the tent to report her failure.
Ysolde, however, has overheard Kurvenal's
speech, and when she learns that Tristan refuses
to obey her summons, she comments bitterly
upon his lack of gratitude for all her tender care,
and confides to Brangeane how she spared him
when he was ill and at her mercy.
Brangeane vainly tries to make her believe
that Tristan has shown his appreciation by woo-
ing her for the king rather than for himself, and
when Ysolde murmurs against a loveless mar-
riage, she shows her the magic potion intrusted
to her care, which will insure her becoming a
loving and beloved wife.
78 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
The sight of the medicine chest in which it is
secreted unfortunately reminds Ysolde that she
too knows the secret of brewing draughts of all
kinds, so she prepares a deadly potion, trying
all the while to make Brangeane believe that it
is a perfectly harmless drug, which will merely
make her forget the unhappy past.
While she is thus occupied, Kurvenal suddenly
appears to announce that they are about to land,
and to bid her prepare to meet the king, who
has seen their coming and is wending his way
down to the shore to bid her welcome. Y solde
haughtily replies that she will not stir a step
until Tristan proffers an apology for his rude
behaviour and obeys her summons. After con-
ferring together for a few moments, Tristan and
Kurvenal agree that it will be wiser to appease
the irate beauty by yielding to her wishes, than
to have an esclandre, and Tristan prepares to
appear before her. Ysolde, in the mean while,
has passionately flung herself into Brangeane's
arms, fondly bidding her farewell, and telling her
to have the magic draught she has prepared all
ready to give to Tristan, with whom she means
to drink atonement.
While Brangeane, who mistrusts her young
mistress, is still pleading with her to forget the
past, Tristan respectfully approaches the princess,
TriStan and YSolde. 79
and when she haughtily reproves him for slight-
ing her commands, he informs her, with much
dignity, that he deemed it his duty to keep his
distance : —
“Good breeding taught,
Where I was upbrought,
That he who brings
The bride to her lord
Should stay afar from his trust.”
Ysolde retorts, that, as he is such a rigid ob-
server of etiquette, it would best behoove him
to remember that as yet he has not even prof-
fered the usual atonement for shedding the
blood of her kin, and that his life is therefore at
her disposal. Tristan, seeing she is bent upon
revenge, haughtily hands her his sword, telling
her that, since Morold was so dear to her, she
had better avenge him. Under pretext that
King Mark might resent such treatment of his
nephew and ambassador, Ysolde refuses to take
advantage of his defencelessness, and declares
she will consider herself satisfied if he will only
pledge her in the usual cup of atonement, which
she motions to Brangeane to bring.
The bewildered handmaiden hastily pours a
drug into the cup. This she tremblingly brings
to her mistress, who, hearing the vessel grate on
8O Stories of the Wagner Opera.
the pebbly shore, tells Tristan his loathsome
task will soon be over, and that he will soon
be able to relinquish her to the care of his
uncle.
Tristan, Suspecting that the contents of the cup
are poisonous, nevertheless calmly takes it from
her hand and puts it to his lips. But ere he has
drunk half the potion, Ysolde snatches it from
his grasp and greedily drains the rest. Instead
of the ice-cold chill of death which they both
expected, Tristan and Ysolde suddenly feel the
electric tingle of love rushing madly through
all their veins, and, forgetting all else, fall into
each other's arms, exchanging passionate Vows
of undying love. -
Brangeane, the only witness of this scene,
views with terror the effect of her subterfuge,
for, fearing lest her mistress should injure Tris-
tan or herself, she had hastily substituted the
love potion intrusted to her care for the poison
Ysolde had prepared. While the lovers, clasped
in each other's arms, unite in a duet of passion-
ate love, the vessel is made fast to the shore,
where the royal bridegroom is waiting, and it is
only when Brangeane throws the royal mantle
over Ysolde's shoulders, and when Kurvenal bids
them step ashore, that the lovers suddenly realise
that their brief dream of love is over.
TriStan and YSolde. 81
The sudden revulsion from great joy to over-
whelming despair proves too much for Ysolde's
delicate frame, and she sinks fainting to the
deck, just as King Mark appears and the curtain
falls upon the first act.
Several days are supposed to have elapsed,
when the second act begins. YSolde after her
fainting fit has been conveyed to the king's
palace, where she is to dwell alone until her
marriage takes place, and where she forgets
everything except the passion which she feels
for Tristan, who now shares all her feelings.
In a hurried private interview the lovers have
arranged a code of signals, and it is agreed that
as soon as the light in Ysolde's window is extin-
guished her lover will join her as speedily as
possible. .
It is a beautiful summer night, and the last
echoes of the hunting horn are dying away on
the evening breeze, when Ysolde turns to Bran-
geane, and impatiently bids her put out the
light. The terrified nurse refuses to do so, and
implores Ysolde not to summon her lover, declar-
ing that she is sure that Melot, one of the king's
courtiers, noted her pallor and Tristan's strange
embarrassment. In vain she adds that she
knows his suspicions have been aroused, and
that he is keeping close watch over them both
82 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
to denounce them should they do anything amiss.
Ysolde refuses to believe her.
The princess is so happy that she makes fun
of her attendant's forebodings, and, after prais-
ing the tender passion she feels, she again
bids her put out the light. As Brangeane will
not obey this command, Ysolde, too much in
love to wait any longer, finally extinguishes
the light with her own hand, and bids her
nurse go up in the watch-tower and keep a
sharp lookout.
Ysolde then hastens to the open door, and
gazes anxiously out into the twilighted forest,
frantically waving her veil to hasten the coming
of her lover, and runs to meet and embrace him
when at last he appears. * ,
Blissful in each other's company, Tristan and
Ysolde now forget all else, while they exchange
passionate vows and declarations of love, bewail-
ing the length of the days which keep them apart,
and the shortness of the nights during which
they can see each other. In a passionate duet
of mutual love and admiration, they also rejoice
that, instead of dying together, as Ysolde had
planned, they are still able to live and love.
Brangeane, posted in the watch-tower above,
repeatedly warns them that they had better part,
but her wise advice proves useless, and it is
Tristan and Yºolie. 83
only when she utters a loud cry of alarm that
Tristan and Ysolde start apart. Simultaneously
almost with Brangeane's cry, Kurvenal rushes
upon the scene with drawn sword, imploring his
master to fly; but ere this advice can be followed
King Mark and the traitor Melot appear, closely
followed by all the royal hunting party. Ysolde,
overcome with shame at being thus detected
with her lover, sinks fainting to the ground,
while Tristan, wishing to shield her as much as
possible from the scornful glances of these men,
stands in front of her with his mantle outspread.
He, too, is overwhelmed with shame, and
silently bows his head when his uncle bitterly
reproves him for betraying him, and robbing
him of the bride he had already learned to love.
Even the sentence of banishment pronounced
upon him seems none too severe, and Tristan,
almost broken-hearted at the sight of his uncle's
grief, sadly turns to ask Ysolde whether she will
share his lot. Shame and discovery have in no
wise diminished her affection for him, and when
she promises to follow him even to the end of
the earth he cannot restrain his joy, and not-
withstanding the king's presence he passionately
clasps her in his arms:
“Wherever Tristan's home may be,
That will Ysolde share with thee:
84 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
That she may follow
And to thee hold,
The way now shown to Ysold’l”
Melot, enraged at this sight, rushes upon
Tristan with drawn sword, and wounds him so
Sorely that he falls back unconscious in Kur-
venal's arms, while Ysolde, clinging to him, faints
away as the curtain falls on the second act.
The third act is played in Tristan's ancestral
home in Brittany, whither he has been conveyed
by Kurvenal, who vainly tries to nurse his
wounded master back to health and strength.
The sick man is lying under a great linden tree,
in death-like lethargy, while Kurvenal anxiously
watches for the vessel which he trusts will bring
Ysolde from Cornwall. She alone can cure his
master's grievous wound, and her presence only
can woo him back from the grave into which he
seems rapidly sinking.
From time to time Kurvenal interrupts his
sad watch beside the pallid sleeper to call to a
shepherd piping on the hillside, and to inquire
of him whether he descries any signs of the
coming sail. Slowly and feebly Tristan at last
opens his eyes, gazes dreamily at his attendant
and Surroundings, and wonderingly inquires how
he came thither. Kurvenal gently tells him that
he bore him away from Cornwall while wounded
TriStan and YSolde. 85
and unconscious, and brought him home to re-
cover his health amid the peaceful scenes of his
happy youth ; but Tristan Sadly declares that
life has lost all its charms since he has parted
from Ysolde. In a sudden return of delirium the
wounded hero then fancies he is again in the
forest, watching for the light to go out, until
Kurvenal tells him that Ysolde will soon be here,
as he has sent a ship to Cornwall to bring her
safely over the seas.
These tidings fill Tristan's heart with such
rapture that he embraces Kurvenal, thanking
him brokenly for his lifelong devotion, and
bidding him climb up into the watch-tower that
he may catch the first glimpse of the coming sail.
While Kurvenal is hesitating whether he shall
obey this order and leave his helpless patient
alone, the shepherd joyfully announces the ap-
pearance of the ship. Kurvenal, ascending the
tower, reports to his master how it rounds the
point, steers past the dangerous rocks, touches
the shore, and permits Ysolde to land.
Tristan has feverishly listened to all these re-
ports, and bids Kurvenal hasten down to bring
Ysolde to him ; then, left alone, he bursts forth
into rapturous praise of the happy day which
brings his beloved to him once more, and of the
deep love which has called him back from the
86 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
gates of the tomb. His impatience to see Ysolde
Soon gets the better of his weakness, however,
and he struggles to rise from his couch, although
the exertion causes his wounds to bleed afresh.
Painfully he staggers half across the stage to
meet Ysolde, who appears only in time to hear
his last passionate utterance of her beloved
name, and to catch his dying form in her arms.
She does not realise that he has breathed his
last, however, and gently tries to woo him back
to life, and make him open his eyes. But when
all her efforts have failed, and she finds his heart
no longer beats beneath her hand, she reproaches
him tenderly for leaving her thus alone, and
sinks unconscious upon his breast. Kurvenal,
standing beside the lovers, speechless with
grief, is roused to sudden action by the shep-
herd's hurried announcement that a second ship
has arrived, and that King Mark, Melot, and
all his train, are about to appear. Frenzied
with grief, and thinking that they have come
once more to injure his master, Kurvenal seizes
his sword, and, springing to the gate, fights des-
perately until he has slain Melot, and falls mor-
tally wounded at Tristan's feet.
While the fight is taking place, King Mark
and Brangeane, standing without the castle wall,
vainly call to him to stay his hand, as they have
Tristan and YSolde. 87
come with friendly intentions only, and now
that he can resist them no longer they all come
rushing in. They are horror-struck at the sight
of Tristan and Ysolde, both apparently dead;
but Brangeane, having discovered that her mis-
tress has only swooned, soon restores her to
consciousness. King Mark hastens to assure
Ysolde that she and Tristan are both forgiven ;
for Brangeane having penitently revealed to him
the secret of the love potion which she admin-
istered, he realises that they could not but yield
to its might. Ysolde, however, pays no heed
to his words, but, gazing fixedly at Tristan, she
mournfully extols his charms and love, until her
heart breaks with grief, and she too sinks life-
less to the ground. No restoratives can now
avail to recall the life which has flown forever,
and King Mark blesses the corpses of the lovers,
and of the faithful servant who has expired at
their feet, as the curtain falls.
THE MASTER SINGERS OF
NUREMBERG.
WHEN Richard Wagner was only sixteen
years of age he read with great enthusi-
asm one of Hoffmann's novels entitled ‘Sänger-
krieg,” giving a romantic account of the ancient
musical contests at the Wartburg in Bavaria.
The impression made upon him by this account
was first utilised in his opera of ‘Tannhäuser,'
when his attention was attracted also to the
picturesque possibilities of the guilds formed by
the burghers.
It was not until 1845, however, that he made
definite use of this material, and began the
sketch for his only comic opera. The first out-
line was drawn during a sojourn in the Bohe-
mian mountains, when he felt in an unusually
light and festive mood. But the work was soon
set aside, and was not resumed until 1862, when
it was finished in Paris. The score was then
begun, and written almost entirely at Biberich
on the Rhine, and Wagner himself conducted
the overture for the first time at a concert in
Leipzig.
WALTHER CROWNED BY EVA.

The Master Singers of Nuremberg. 89
This fragment was very well received and
there was an ‘enthusiastic demand for a repeti-
tion, in which the members of the orchestra took
part as much as the audience.’ The opera itself,
however, was first performed under Von Bülow,
in 1868, at Munich. The best singers of the
day took the principal parts, and the result of
their united efforts was “a perfect performance;
the best that had hitherto been given of any
work of the master.”
The opera, at first intended as a comical pen-
dant to ‘Tannhäuser,' is, as we have already
stated, Wagner's first and only attempt to write
in the comic vein, and the text is full of witty
and cutting allusions to the thick-headed critics
(at whose hands Wagner had suffered so Sorely),
who sweepingly condemn everything that does
not conform to their fixed standard. During all
the Middle Ages, and more especially in the
middle of the thirteenth century, the quaint old
city of Nuremberg was the seat of one of the
most noted musical guilds, or German training
schools for poets and musicians. The members
of this fraternity were all burghers, instead of
knights like the Minnesingers, and held different
ranks according to their degree of proficiency.
They were therefore called singers when they
had mastered a certain number of tunes; poets
90 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
when they could compose verses to a given
air; and Master Singers when they could write
both words and music on an appointed theme.
The musical by-laws of this guild were called
‘Tabulatur, and every candidate was forced to
pass an examination, seven mistakes being the
maximum allowed by the chief examiner, who
bore the title of Marker.
The opera opens in the interior of St. Catha-
rine's church in Nuremberg, where a closing
hymn in honour of St. John is being sung. Eva
Pogner and her maid, Magdalena, have been
present at the service, and are still standing in
their pew. But, in spite of her handmaiden's
energetic signs and nudges, the young lady pays
but little heed to the closing hymn, and turns all
her attention upon a handsome young knight,
Walther von Stolzenfels, who, as the last note
dies away, presses eagerly forward and enters
into conversation with her.
To secure a few moments’ private interview
Eva sends her maid back to the pew, first for
her forgotten kerchief, next for a pin which she
has lost, and lastly for her prayer-book. During
these temporary absences the deeply enamoured
youth implores Eva to tell him whether she is
still free, and whether her heart and hand are
still at her own disposal. Before the agitated
The Master Singers of Nuremberg. 91
girl can answer, the servant comes up, and,
overhearing the question, declares that her mis-
tress's hand has already been promised, - a
statement which Eva modifies by adding that
her future bridegroom is yet to be chosen.
As these contradictory answers greatly puzzle
Walther, she hurriedly explains that her father,
the wealthiest burgher of the town, wishing to
show his veneration for music, has promised his
fortune and her hand to a Master Singer, the
preference being given to the one who will win
the prize on the morrow. The only proviso
made is that the girl may remain free if the
bridegroom does not win her approval, and
Eva timidly confesses that she will either marry
Walther or remain single all her life. Magda-
lena, who has been carrying on a lively flirtation
of her own with David, the sexton, now Sud-
denly hurries her young mistress off, bidding
the knight apply to David if he would learn any
more concerning the musical test about to take
place, and in the same breath she promises her
lover some choice dainties if he will only do all
in his power to enlighten and favour her mis-
tress's suitor.
‘Let David supply all
The facts of the trial. —
David, my dear, just heed what I say i
92 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
You must induce Sir Walther to stay.
The larder I’ll sweep,
The best for you keep ;
To-morrow rewards shall fall faster
If this young knight is made Master.”
Walther, who has just passionately declared
to Eva that he knows he could become both
poet and musician for her sweet sake, since her
father has vowed never to allow her to marry
any but a Master, now listens attentively to
David's exposition of the school's rules and
regulations. In the mean while the apprentices
come filing in, prepare the benches and chairs,
arrange the Marker's curtained box, and gayly
chaff each other as they join in an impromptu
dance.
They only subside when Pogner, Eva's father,
enters with Beckmesser, an old widower, the
Marker of the guild, who flatters himself he can
easily win the prize on the morrow, and would
fain make Pogner promise that the victor should
receive the maiden's hand without her consent
being asked. He fears lest the capricious fair
one may yet refuse to marry him, and decides to
make sure of her by singing a serenade under
her window that very night. But when he sees
the handsome young candidate step forward and
receive the support of Pogner, (who has already
The Master Singers of Nuremberg. 93
made his acquaintance, and who evidently is
inclined to favour him,) the widower looks very
glum indeed, and vindictively resolves to pre-
vent his entrance into the guild by fair means or
by foul.
Hans Sachs, the poet shoemaker of Nurem-
berg, and all the other members of the guild,
having now appeared, Beckmesser calls the roll,
and Pogner repeats his offer to give his fortune
and daughter to the winner of the prize on the
morrow, and charges the guild to select their
candidates for the contest. Of course the very
first thing to be done is to examine the new
candidate. Walther, when questioned concern-
ing his teachers and method, boldly declares he
has learned his art from nature alone, chooses
love as his theme for a trial song, and bursts
forth into an impassioned and beautiful strain.
But as his words and music are strictly original,
and therefore cannot be judged by the usual
canons, Beckmesser savagely marks down mis-
take after mistake, and brusquely interrupts
the song to declare the singer is “outsung and
outdone.” In proof of this assertion he exhibits
his slate, which is covered with bad marks. Hans
Sachs, the only member present who has under-
stood the beauty of this original lay, vainly tries
to interfere in Walther's behalf, but his efforts
94. Stories of the Wagner Opera.
only call forth a rude attack on Beckmesser's
part, who advises him to reserve his opinions,
stick to his last, and finish the pair of shoes
which he has promised him for the morrow.
Walther is finally allowed to finish his song, but
the prejudiced and intolerant citizens of Nurem-
berg utterly refuse to receive him in their
guild, and he rushes out of the hall in despair,
for he has lost his best chance to win the
hand of his lady love by competing for the prize
on the morrow. His departure is a signal for
a tumultuous breaking up of the meeting, the
apprentices dancing as before, as soon as their
masters have departed.
The second act represents one of the tortuous
alleys and a long Straight street of the quaint old
city of Nuremberg. On one side is Hans Sach's
modest shoemaker's shop, on the other the en-
trance to Pogner's stately dwelling. It is even-
ing, and David, the shoemaker's apprentice,
is leisurely putting up the shutters, when his
attention is suddenly attracted by Magdalena,
who appears with a basket of dainties. She
however refuses to give them to him until he
tells her the result of the musical examination.
When she hears that Walther has failed and has
been refused admittance to the guild, she pet-
fishly Snatches the basket from his grasp and
The Master Singers of Nuremberg. 95
flounces off in great displeasure. The other
apprentices, who in the mean while have slyly
drawn near, now make unmerciful fun of David,
who stands stupidly in the middle of the Street
gazing regretfully after her.
This rough play is soon ended by the appear-
ance of Hans Sachs. He orders all the appren-
tices to bed, and, by a judicious application of
his strap, drives David into the house. Quiet
has just been restored once more, when Pogner
and Eva come sauntering down the street, re-
turning from their customary evening walk, and
sit down side by side on the bench in front of
their door.
Here Pogner tries to sound his daughter's
feelings, and to discover whether she has any
preference among the morrow's candidates, re-
iterating his decision, however, that he will
never allow her to marry any one except a man
who has publicly won the title of Master Singer.
As he cannot ascertain his daughter's feelings,
he soon enters the house, while Eva lingers out-
side watching for Walther's promised visit. She
is soon joined by Magdalena, who sorrowfully
tells her that Walther has been rejected ; but, as
she can give no details about the examination,
Eva timidly approaches Hans Sachs's window
hoping to learn more from him. The cobbler is
96 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
sitting at work near his window, singing a song
of his own composition, and the maiden soon
enters into a bantering conversation with her old
friend. -
In answer to Hans Sachs’s questions, she
soon confides to him that she cannot endure
Beckmesser, and to flatter him into a good
humour she archly suggests that, as he too is a
widower, he ought to compete for her hand.
Hans Sachs, who is far too shrewd not to see
through her girlish fencing, now resolves to dis-
cover whether she is as indifferent to the young
knight, and in order to do so he drops a few
careless and contemptuous remarks about him,
which drive the young lady away in a very bad
temper.
Smiling maliciously at the success of his ruse,
the cobbler cheerfully continues his work, while
Eva rejoins Magdalena, who informs her that
Beckmesser has signified his intention to sere-
nade her that very night. Eva cares naught
for the widower's music, and, only intent upon
securing a private interview with the handsome
young knight, refuses to re-enter the house;
so Magdalena leaves her to answer Pogner's
call. -
A few moments later Walther himself comes
slowly down the street; but, in spite of Eva's
The Master Singers of Nuremberg. 97
rapturous welcome, he remains plunged in mel-
ancholy, for he has forfeited all hope of winning
her on the morrow. The sound of the watch-
man's horn drives the young people apart, and
while Eva vanishes into the house, Walther
hides under the shadow of the great linden tree
in front of Sachs's house.
His presence has been detected by the shoe-
maker, who makes no sign, and when the night
watchman has gone by, singing the hour and ad-
monishing all good people to go to bed, he per-
ceives a female form glide softly out of the house
and join the knight. This female is Eva, who
has exchanged garments with Magdalena, and
has prevailed upon her to pose at her window
during the serenade, while she tries to comfort
her beloved.
Crouching in the shade, the lovers now plan
to elope that very night, but Hans Sachs over-
hears their conversation, and when they are
about to leave their hiding-place and depart, he
flings open his shutter so that a broad beam of
light streams across the old street. It makes
such a brilliant illumination that it is impossible
for any one to pass unseen. This ruse, which
proves such a hindrance to the lovers, is equally
distasteful to Beckmesser, who has come down
the street and has taken his stand near them to
7
98 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
tune his lute and begin his serenade. Before
he can utter the first note, Hans Sachs, having
become aware of his presence also, and mali-
ciously anxious to defeat his plans, lustily entones
a noisy ditty about Adam and Eve, hammering
his shoes to beat time.
Beckmesser, who has seen Eva's window
open, and longs to make himself heard, steps
up to the shoemaker's window. In answer to
his testy questions why he is at his bench at
such an hour, Hans Sachs good-humouredly
replies that he must work late to finish the
shoes about which he has been twitted in public.
At his wit’s end to silence the shoemaker and
sing his serenade, Beckmesser artfully pretends
that he would like to have Sachs's opinion
of the song he intends to sing on the morrow,
and proposes to let him hear it then. After a
little demur the shoemaker consents, upon con-
dition that he may give a tap with his hammer
every time he hears a mistake, and thus carry
on the double office of marker and of cobbler.
Beckmesser is, however, so angry and agi-
tated that his song is utterly spoiled, and he
makes so many mistakes that the cobbler's
hammer keeps up an incessant clatter. These
irritating sounds make the singer more ner-
vous still, and he sings so loudly and so badly
The Master Singers of Nuremberg. 99
that he rouses the whole neighbourhood, and
heads pop out of every window to bid him be
still.
David also ventures to peer forth, and, see-
ing that the serenade is directed to Magdalena,
whom he recognises at the window above, his
jealous anger knows no bounds. He springs
out of the window, and begins belabouring his
unlucky rival with a stout cudgel. The Nu-
remberg apprentices, who are divided up into
numerous rival guilds, and who are always
quarrelling, seize this occasion to bandy words,
which soon result in bringing them all out
into the street, where a free fight takes place
between the rival factions of journeymen and
apprentices.
Magdalena, seeing her beloved David in peril
screams aloud, until Pogner, deceived by her
apparel, pulls her into the room and closes the
window, declaring he must go and see that all
is safe. Sachs, who has closed his shutter at
the first sounds of the fight, steals out into the
Street, approaches the young lowers, and, pre-
tending to take Eva for Magdalena, he thrusts
her quickly into Pogner's house, and drags
Walther into his own dwelling just as the sound
of the approaching night watch is heard. As if
by magic the brawlers suddenly disappear, the
IOO Stories of the Wagner Opera.
windows close, the lights are extinguished, and
as the watchman turns the corner the street has
resumed its wonted peaceful aspect.
The third act opens on the morrow, in Hans
Sachs's shop, where the cobbler is absorbed in
reading and oblivious of the presence of his ap-
prentice David, who comes sneaking in with a
basket which he has just received from Magda-
lena. Taking advantage of his master's absorp-
tion, David examines the ribbons, flowers, cakes,
and Sausages with which it is stocked, starting
guiltily at his master's every movement, and
finally seeking to disarm the anger he must feel
at the evening's brawl by offering him the gifts
he has just received.
Hans Sachs, however, good-naturedly refuses
to receive them, and after making his apprentice
sing the Song for the day he dismisses him to
don his festive attire, for he has decided to take
him with him to the festival. Left alone, Sachs
soliloquises on the follies of mankind, until
Walther appears. In reply to his host's polite
inquiry how he spent the night, Walther declares
he has been visited by a wonderful dream, which
he goes on to relate. At the very first words
the cobbler discovers that it is part of a beauti-
ful song, conforming to all the Master Singers'
rigid rules, and he hastily jots down the words,
The Master Singers of Nuremberg. IOI
bidding the young knight be careful to retain
the tune.
As they both leave the room to don their fes-
tive apparel, Beckmesser comes limping in. He
soon discovers the verses on the bench, and
pockets them, intending to substitute them for
his own in the coming contest. Sachs, coming
in, denies all intention of taking part in the day's
programme, and when Beckmesser jealously asks
why he has been inditing a love song if he does
not intend to sue for Eva's hand, he discovers
the larceny. He, however, good-naturedly al-
lows Beckmesser to retain the copy of verses,
and even promises him that he will never claim
the authorship of the song, a promise which
Beckmesser intends to make use of so as to
pass it off as his own.
Triumphant now and sure of victory, Beck-
messer departs as Eva enters in bridal attire.
She is of course devoured by curiosity to know
what has become of her lover, but, as excuse
for her presence, she petulantly complains that
her shoe pinches. Kneeling in front of her,
Sachs investigates the matter, greatly puzzled at
first by her confused and contradictory state-
ments and by her senseless replies to his ques-
tions. He is turning his back to the inner
door, through which Walther has also entered
IO2 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
the shop, but, soon becoming aware of the
cause of her perturbation, he deftly draws the
shoe from her foot, and going to his last pre-
tends to be very busy over it, while he is in
reality listening intently to discover whether
Eva's presence will inspire Walther with the
third and last verse of his song. His expecta-
tions are not disappointed, for the knight, ap-
proaching the maiden Softly, declares his love
in a beautiful song.
As the last notes die away, the cobbler joy-
fully exclaims that Walther has composed a Mas-
ter Song, calls Eva and David (who has just
entered) as witnesses that he composed it, fore-
tells that, if Walther will only yield to his guid-
ance he will yet enable him to win the prize, and,
patting Eva in a truly paternal fashion, he bids
her be happy, for she will yet be able to marry
the man she loves. David, who has been made
journeyman so that he can bear witness for Wal-
ther, greets the happy Magdalena with the ti-
dings that they no longer need delay, but can
marry immediately.
After the four happy young people and Hans
Sachs have given vent to their rapture in a beauti-
ful quintette, they adjourn to the meadow out-
side of the town, where the musical contest is to
take place. The peasants and apprentices are
The Master Singers of Nuremberg. Io9
merrily dancing on the green, and cease their
mirthful gyrations only when the Master Singers
appear. Hans Sachs addresses the crowd, reads
the conditions of the test, proclaims what the
prize shall be, and concludes by inviting Beck-
messer to come forth and begin his song. The
young people assembled hail this elderly candi-
date with veiled scorn, and Beckmesser, pain-
fully clambering to the eminence where the
candidates are requested to stand, hesitatingly
begins his lay. The words, with which he has
had no time to become familiar, are entirely un-
adapted to his tune, so he draws them out, clips
them, loses the thread of the verses, and fails in
every sense.
In his chagrin at having made himself ridicu-
lous, and in anger because his colleagues declare
the words of his song have no sense, he suddenly
turns upon Hans Sachs, and, hoping to humili-
ate him publicly, accuses him of having written
the song. Hans Sachs, of course, disowns the
authorship, but stoutly declares the song is a
masterpiece, and that he is sure every one
present will agree with him if they hear it
properly rendered to its appropriate tune. As
he is a general favourite among his townsmen,
he soon prevails upon them to listen to the
author and composer and decide whether he or
Beckmesser is at fault.
IO4 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
Walther then springs lightly up the turfy
throne, and, inspired by love, he sings with
all his heart. The beautiful words, married to
an equally beautiful strain, win for him the
unanimous plaudits of the crowd, who hail him
as victor, while the blushing Eva places the
laurel crown upon his head. Pogner, openly
delighted with the favourable turn of affairs, gives
him the badge of the guild, and heartily prom-
ises him the hand of his only daughter. As for
Hans Sachs, having publicly proved that his
judgment was not at fault, and that he had been
keen enough to detect genius even when it re-
vealed itself in a new form, he is heartily cheered
by all the Nurembergers, who are prouder than
ever of the cobbler poet who has brought about
a happy marriage : —
* Hail Sachs Hans Sachs |
Hail Nuremberg's darling Sachs l’
THE RHINE
MALDENS.

THE NIBELUNG'S RING. —
RHEIN GOLD.
IT was in 1848, after the completion of Tann-
häuser, that Wagner looked about for a sub-
ject for a new opera. Then “for the last time
the conflicting claims of History and Legend
presented themselves.” He had studied the
story of Barbarossa, intending to make use of
it, but discarded it in favour of the Nibelungen
Myths, which he decided to dramatise." His
first effort was an alliterative poem entitled ‘The
Death of Siegfried,” which, however, was soon
set aside, a part of it only being incorporated in
‘The Twilight [or Dusk of the Gods.’
Wagner was then dwelling in Dresden, and
planning the organisation of a national theatre ;
but the political troubles of 1849, which resulted
in his banishment, soon defeated all these hopes.
After a short sojourn in Paris, Wagner took up
his abode in Zurich, where he became a natural-
ised citizen, and where he first turned all his at-
tention to the principal work of his life, – ‘The
1 See the author's ‘Myths of Northern Lands' and
“Legends of the Rhine.”
IO6 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
Nibelungen Ring.” In connection with this
work Wagner himself wrote: “When I tried to
dramatise the most important moment of the
mythos of the Nibelungen in Siegfried's Tod, I
found it necessary to indicate a vast number of
antecedent facts, so as to put the main incidents
in the proper light. But I could only narrate
these subordinate matters, whereas I felt it im-
perative that they should be embodied in the
action. Thus I came to write Siegfried. But
here again the same difficulty troubled me.
Finally I wrote “Die Walküre " and “Das
Rheingold,” and thus contrived to incorporate
all that was needful to make the action tell its
own tale.' The completed poem was privately
printed in 1853, and published ‘as a literary
product ' ten years later, when the author was
in his fifticth year.
As for the score, it was begun in 1853, and
Wagner says: “During a sleepless night at an
inn at Spezzia, the music of “Das Rheingold"
occurred to me; straightway I turned home-
ward and set to work.” Such was the energy
with which he laboured that the complete score
of the Rheingold was finished in 1854. Two
years later the music to the Walkyrie was all
done, and Siegfried begun. But pecuniary
difficulties now forced the master to undertake
The Nibelung’s Ring. IO/
more immediately remunerative work, and, “tired
of heaping one silent score upon another,’ he
undertook and finished ‘Tristan and Ysolde.”
He then thought he would never be able to
finish his grand work, and wrote: ‘I can hardly
expect to find leisure to complete the music,
and I have dismissed all hope that I may live to
see it performed.’
Fortunately for him, however, Ludwig II. of
Bavaria had heard ‘Lohengrin when only six-
teen, and, a passionate lover of music and art,
he had become an enthusiastic admirer of the
great composer. One of the very first acts of
his reign was, therefore, to despatch his own
private secretary to Wagner with the message,
‘Come here and finish your work.”
As this message was backed by a small pen-
sion which would enable the musician to keep
the wolf from the door, he hopefully went to
Munich. But, in spite of the sovereign's con-
tinued favour, Wagner found so many enemies
that the sojourn there became very unpleasant.
It was then that the architect Semper made the
first plans for a theatre, in which the king in-
tended that “The Nibelungen Ring’ should be
played, as he had formally commissioned Wagner
to complete the work.
Driven away from his native land once more
Io8 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
by the bitterness of his enemies, Wagner, who
still enjoyed Ludwig's entire favour, withdrew
in 1865 to Triebschen, where the ‘Ring' pro-
gressed steadily. It was there, in 1869, that he
completed the Siegfried score, and began that of
‘The Twilight of the Gods,' which was finished
only some time later. As the King's plan for
building a national theatre for the representation
of ‘The Nibelungen Ring' had to be abandoned,
the scheme was taken up by the municipality of
the little town of Bayreuth. Wagner was cor-
dially invited to take up his residence there, and
settled in his new home in 1872, when he was
already sixty years of age.
Thanks to munificent private subscriptions
secured in great part by the Wagner societies in
various parts of the world, the long planned
theatre was finally begun. It was finished in
1876, and the entire ‘Nibelungen Ring' was per-
formed there in the month of August, the very
best singers of the day taking all the principal
parts, which they rendered to the best of their
abilities. The result was a magnificent perform-
ance, a musical triumph ; but as the venture was
not a financial success, the performances were
not repeated in the following summer. Several
new ventures, however, were made, and another
Wagner festival has just taken place, of which
The Nibelung’s Ring. IO9
the real result is yet unknown, although the
attendance was very large, the audience being
composed of people from all parts of the world.
Thus Wagner completed and rendered the series
of operas, which include plays ‘for three days
and a fore evening,’ whence the series is gener-
ally called a ‘trilogy,’ although it is really com-
posed of four whole operas.
Away down in the translucent depths of the
Rhine, three beautiful nymphs, Woglinde, Well-
gunde, and Flosshilde, daughters of the river-
god, dart in and out among the jagged rocks.
They have been stationed there to guard the
Rhinegold, the priceless treasure of the deep,
whence comes all the warm golden light which
illumines the utmost recesses of their dark and
damp abode.
The nymphs suddenly pause in their merry
game, for the wily dwarf Alberich has emerged
from one of the sombre chasms. He is a Nibe-
lung, a spirit of night and darkness, and slowly
gropes his way to one of the upper ridges,
whence he can see the graceful forms of the
nymphs, watch their merry evolutions, and over-
hear them repeatedly admonish each other to
keep watch over the gleaming treasure, which
their father, the Rhinegod, has intrusted to their
keeping, warning them that just such a dark
I IO Stories of the Wagner Opera.
and misshapen creature as the dwarf would try
to wrest it from their grasp : —
“Guard the gold !
Father said
That such was the foe.”
But all Alberich's senses are fascinated by the
water-nymphs' beauty, and he soon falls madly
in love with them, and makes almost superhuman
efforts to overtake the mocking fair. Hotly he
pursues them from ridge to ridge, yielding to
the blandishments of one after another, and is
beside himself with rage as they deftly escape
from his clasp just as he fancies he has at last
caught them. The fair nymphs, who know they
have nothing to fear from so infatuated a lover,
swim hither and thither, tantalising him by their
nearness, and lute him up and down the rocky
river-bed.
They have just exhausted his patience, and
driven him wild with impotent rage, when the
green waters are suddenly illumined by the phos-
phorescent glow of the Rhinegold, the treasure
whose presence they hail with a rapturous out-
burst of song, and whose secret power they
extol : —
* The realm of the world
By him shall be won
The Nibelung’s Ring. III
Who from the Rhinegold
Hath wrought the ring
Imparting measureless power.”
The dwarf, attracted by the brilliant light,
hears their words at first without paying any
attention to them ; but when they repeat that he
who is willing to forego love can fashion a ring
from this gold which will make him master of all
the world, he starts with surprise. Fascinated
at last by the glow of the treasure, and forgetting
all thoughts of love in greed, he suddenly grasps
the carelessly guarded gold and plunges with it
down into the depths, leaving the three nymphs
to bewail its loss in utter darkness.
Little by little the gloom lightens, however,
and instead of the river bed the scene repre-
sents the green valley through which the Rhine is
flowing. In the gray dawn one can descry the
high hills on either side, and as the light in-
creases Wotan and Fricka, the principal deities
of Northern mythology, are seen lying on the
flowery slopes.
As they gently awaken from their peaceful
slumbers, the morning mists entirely disappear,
revealing in the background the fairy-like beauty
of a wondrous palace which has just been
* All the quotations in the ‘Ring’ have been taken
either from Dippold's or Forman's admirable translations.
I 12 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
completed for their abode. This sight startles
Fricka, for she knows that the assembled gods
have promised that Fasolt and Fafnir, the
gigantic builders, should have Sun and moon
and the fair Freya as fee. To lose the bright
luminaries of the world were bad enough, but
Fricka's dismay is still greater at the prospect
of parting forever with the fair goddess of beauty
and youth. In her sorrow she bitterly regrets
that the promise has been made and rendered
inviolable by being inscribed on her husband's
spear, and reproves him for the joy he shows in
viewing the completion of his future abode : —
“In delight thou revel'st
When I am alarmed P
Thou 'rt glad of the fortress,
For Freya I fear.
Bethink thee, thou thoughtless god,
Of the guerdon now to be given
The castle is finished,
And forfeit the pledge.
Forgettest thou what is engaged P’
Thus suddenly brought to his senses, Wotan,
king of the Northern gods, protests that he never
really intended to part with the beauty, light,
and sweetness of life, and seeks to excuse him-
Self by urging that Loge, the god of fire and the
arch-deceiver, overpersuaded him by promising
The Nibelung's Ring. II3
to find some way of escape from the fatal
bargain : —
* He whom I hearkened to swore
To find a safety for Freya;
On him my hope have I set.”
They are still discussing the matter, and
eagerly wondering why Loge does not appear,
when Freya comes rushing wildly upon the
stage, with fear-blanched face and trembling
limbs, breathlessly imploring the father of the
gods to save her from the two huge giants in
close pursuit. In her terror she also summons
her devoted brothers, Donner and Fro. But,
in spite of the strength of these potent gods of the
sunshine and thunder, the giants boldly advance,
boasting aloud of their achievement, and demand-
ing the fulfilment of the stipulated contract.
The gods are almost at their wits' end with
anxiety, when Loge, god of fire, appears. They
loudly clamour to him to keep his word and re-
lease them from the consequences of their rash
bargain. In reply to this summons, Loge de-
clares he has wandered everywhere in search of
something more precious than youth and love,
and that he has utterly failed to find it. No
one, he says, is ready to relinquish these blessed
gifts, no one except Alberich, who has bartered
8
I 14 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
love for the gleaming treasure which he has just
stolen from the Rhine nymphs Loge concludes
his speech by delivering to Wotan an imploring
message from the defrauded maidens, who sum-
mon him to avenge their wrongs and help them
to recover the stolen gold. The description of
the gleaming treasure, of the power of the ring
which Alberich has fashioned out of it, and
especially of the immense hoard which he has
amassed by the unlimited sway which the ring
enables him to wield over all the underground
folk, has so greatly fascinated the giants, that,
after a few moments’ consultation, they step
forward, offering to relinquish all claim to the
previously promised reward, providing the hoard
is theirs ere nightfall. This said, they bear the
shrieking and reluctant Freya away as a hostage,
and vanish in the distance.
As they depart, the light suddenly grows wan
and dim. The goddess who has just departed
is the dispenser of the golden apples of peren-
nial youth according to Wagner, and, as she
vanishes, the gods, deprived of the substance
which keeps them ever young, suddenly lose all
their vigour and bloom, and grow visibly old and
gray, to their openly expressed dismay : —
“Without the apples,
Old and hoar —
The Nibelung’s Ring. II 5
Hoarse and helpless —
Worth not a dread to the world,
The dying gods must grow.’
This sudden change, especially in his beloved
wife Fricka, determines Wotan to secure the
gold at any price, and he bids Loge lead the
way to Alberich's realm, following him bravely
down through a deep cleft in the rock, whence
rises a dense mist, which soon blots the whole
scene from view.
In the mean while, the dwarf Alberich has con-
veyed the gleaming Rhinegold to his underground
dwelling, where, mindful of the nymphs' words,
he has forced his brother and slave, the Smith
Mime, to fashion a ring. No sooner has Albe-
rich put on this trinket than he finds himself
endowed with unlimited power, which he uses
to oppress all his race, and to pile up a mighty
hoard, for the greed of gold has now filled all
his thoughts. Fearful lest any one should wrest
the precious ring from him, he next directs
Mime to make a helmet of gold, the magic tarn-
helm, which will render the wearer invisible.
Mime is at work at his underground forge, and
has just finished the helmet which he intends to
appropriate to his own use to escape thraldom,
when Alberich suddenly appears, snatches it
from his trembling hand, and, placing it upon his
II6 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
head, becomes invisible to all. The malicious
dwarf misuses this power to torture Mime with
his whip, and rushes off to lash the dwarfs in the
rear of the cave as Wotan and Loge suddenly
appear. Of course their first impulse is to in-
quire the cause of Mime's writhing and bitter
cries, and from him they hear how Alberich has
become lord of the Nibelungs by the might of
his ring and magic helmet. In corroboration of
this statement, the gods soon behold a long train
of dwarfs toiling across the cave, bending be-
neath their burdens of gold and precious stones,
and driven incessantly onward by Alberich's
whip, which he plies with merciless vigour. He
is visible now, for he has hung the magic helmet
to his belt ; but he no sooner becomes aware of
the gods’ presence than he strides up to them,
and haughtily demands their name and business.
Disarmed a little by Wotan's answer, that they
have heard of his new might and have come to
ascertain whether the accounts were true, Albe-
rich boasts of his power to compel all to bow
before his will, and says he can even change his
form, thanks to his magic helmet. At Loge's
urgent request, the dwarf then gives them an
exhibition of his power by changing himself first
into a huge loathsome dragon, and next into a
repulsive toad. While in this shape he is made
The Nibelung's Ring. I 17
captive by the gods, deprived of his tarn-helm,
and compelled to surrender his hoard as the price
of his liberty. Before departing, Wotan even
wrests from his grasp the golden ring, to which
he desperately clings, for he knows that as long
as it remains in his possession he will have the
power to collect more gold. In his rage at
being deprived of it, Alberich hurls his curse
after the gods, declaring the ring will ever bring
death and destruction to the possessor : —
“As by curse I found it first,
A curse rest on the ring !
Gave its gold
To me measureless might,
Now deal its wonder
Death where it is worn 1 °
This curse uttered, he disappears, and while
mist invades the place the scene changes, and
Loge and Wotan stand once more on the grassy
slopes, where Fricka, Donner, and Fro hasten
to welcome them, and to inquire concerning the
success of their enterprise. Almost at the same
moment, the giants Fasolt and Fafnir also
appear, leading Freya, whom Fricka would fain
embrace, but who is withheld from her long-
ing arms. The grim giants vow that no one
shall even touch their fair captive until they have
received a pile of gold as high as their staffs,
II.8 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
which they drive into the ground, and wide
enough to screen the goddess entirely. Thus
admonished, Loge and Fro pile up the gleaming
treasure, which is surmounted by the glittering
helmet, whose power the giants do not know.
Freya is entirely hidden, and only a chink
remains through which the giants can catch a
glimpse of her golden hair. They insist upon
having this chink closed up ere they will relin-
quish Freya, so Wotan is forced to give up
the magic ring. But he draws it from his finger
only when Erda, the shadowy earth goddess,
half rises out of the ground to command the
sacrifice of the treasure which Alberich stole
from the Rhine maidens.
As the stipulated ransom has all been paid,
the giants release Freya. She joyfully embraces
her kin, and under her caresses they recover all
their former youth and bloom. In the mean
while the giants produce their bags, but soon
begin quarrelling together about the division
of the hoard, and appeal to the gods to decide
their dispute. The gods are all too busy to pay
any heed to this request, all except the malicious
Loge, who slyly advises Fafnir to seize the ring
and pay no heed to the rest. As the ring is
accursed, Fafnir remorselessly slays his brother
to obtain it ; then, packing up all the treas-
The Nibelung’s Ring. II9
ure in his great bag, he triumphantly departs.
To disperse the shadow hovering over Wotan's
brow ever since he has been obliged to sacrifice
the ring, Thor now beats the rocks with his
magic hammer, and conjures a brief storm. The
long roll of thunder Soon dies away, and when
the fitful play of the lightning is ended Thor
shows the assembled gods a glittering rain-
bow bridge of quivering, changing hues, which
stretches from the valley where they are stand-
ing to the beautiful portals of the wondrous
palace Walhalla, the home of the gods !
Fascinated by this sight, Wotan invites the
gods to follow him over its lightly swung arch,
and as they trip over the rainbow bridge, the
lament of the Rhine-maidens mourning their
treasure falls in slow, pitiful cadences upon their
€2. TS : —
‘Rhinegold !
Purest gold !
O would that thy light
Waved in the waters below !
Unfailing faith
Is found in the deep,
While above, in delight,
Faintness and falsehood abide l’
THE WALKYRIE.
W OTAN — made secretly uneasy by Erda's
dark prediction that
“Nothing that is ends not;
A day of gloom
Dawns for the gods; —
Be ruled and waive from the ring' —
relinquishes the ring which he had wrested from
Alberich, as has been seen. His restlessness
however daily increases, until at last he pene-
trates in disguise into the dark underground
world and woos the fair earth goddess. So
successfully does he plead his cause, that she
receives him as her spouse and bears him eight
lovely daughters. She also reveals to him the
secrets of the future, when Walhalla's strong
walls shall fall, and the gods shall perish, because
they have resorted to fraud and lent a willing
ear to Loge, prince of evil.
Notwithstanding this fatal prediction Wotan
remains undismayed. Instead of yielding pas-
sively to whatever fate may befall him, he re-
solves to prepare for a future conflict, and to
BRUNHILDE DISCOVERING SLEGMUND AND SIEGLINDE.

The Walkyrie. - I2 I
defend Walhalla against every foe. As the gods
are few in number, he soon decides to summon
mortals to his abode, and in order to have men
trained to every hardship and accustomed to
war, he flings his spear over the world, and
kindles unending strife between all the nations.
His eight daughters, the Walkyries, are next
deputed to ride down to earth every day and
bear away the bravest among the slain. These
warriors are entertained at his table with heav-
enly mead, and encouraged to keep up their
strength and skill by cutting and hewing each
other, their wounds healing magically as Soon
as made.
But, in spite of these preparations, Wotan is
not yet satisfied. He still remembers the all-
powerful ring which he has given to the giants,
and which is still in the keeping of Fafnir.
In case this ring again falls into the hands of the
revengeful Alberich, he knows the gods cannot
hope to escape from his wrath. He himself can-
not snatch back a gift once given, so he decides
to beget a son, who will unconsciously be his
emissary, and who will, moreover, oppose the
offspring which Erda has predicted that Alberich
will raise merely to help him avenge his wrongs.
Disguised as a mortal named Wålse, or Volsung,
Wotan takes up his abode upon earth, and
I 22 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
marries a mortal woman, who bears him twin
children, Siegmund and Sieglinde. These chil-
dren are still very young when Hunding, a
hunter and lover of strife, comes upon their hut
in the woods, and burns it to the ground, after
slaying the elder woman and carrying off the
younger as his captive.
On their return from the forest, Wälse and
Siegmund behold with dismay the destruction of
their dwelling, and vow constant warfare against
their foes. This vow they faithfully keep until
Siegmund grows up and his father suddenly
and mysteriously disappears, leaving behind him
nothing but the wolf-skin garment to which he
owes his name.
Hunding, in the mean while, has carried
Sieglinde off to his dwelling, which is built
around the stem of a mighty oak, and when she
attains a marriageable age he compels her to
become his wife, although she very reluctantly
submits to his wish. The opening scene of this
opera represents Hunding's hall, -in the midst
of which stands the mighty oak whose branches
overshadow the whole house, – which is dimly
illumined by the fire burning on the hearth. Sud-
denly the door is flung wide open, and a stran-
ger rushes in. He is dusty and dishevelled, and
examines the apartment with a wild glance.
The Walkyrie. I23
When he has ascertained that it is quite empty,
he comes in, closes the door behind him, and
sinks exhausted in front of the fire, where he
soon falls asleep. A moment later Sieglinde,
Hunding's forced wife, appears. When she
sees a stranger in front of the fire, instead of
her expected lord and master, she starts back
in sudden fear. But, reassured by the motion-
less attitude of the stranger, she soon draws
near, and, bending over him, discovers that he
has fallen asleep : —
* His heart still heaves,
Though his lids be lowered,
Warlike and manful I deem him
Though wearied down he sunk.’
As she has only a very dim recollection of her
past, she fails to recognise her brother in the
sleeper. He soon stirs uneasily, and, wakening,
tries to utter a few words, which his parched lips
almost refuse to articulate, until she compas-
sionately gives him a drink.
Gazing at Sieglinde as if fascinated by some
celestial vision, Siegmund, in answer to her
questions, informs her that he is an unhappy
wight, whose footsteps misfortune constantly
dogs. He then goes on to inform her that even
now he has escaped from his enemies with
124 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
nothing but his life, and makes a movement to
leave her for fear lest he should bring ill-luck
upon her too. Sieglinde, however, implores
him to remain and await the return of her hus-
band. Almost as she speaks Hunding enters
the house, and, allowing her to divest him of his
weapons, seems dumbly to inquire the reason of
the stranger's presence at his hearth.
Sieglinde rapidly explains how she found him
faint and weary before the fire, and Hunding,
mindful of the laws of hospitality, bids the
stranger welcome, and invites him to partake of
the food which Sieglinde now sets before them.
As Siegmund takes his place at the rude board,
Hunding first becomes aware of the strange
resemblance he bears to his wife, and after
commenting upon it soilo Voce, he inquires his
guest's name and antecedents. Siegmund then
mournfully relates his happy youth, the tragic
loss of his mother and sister, his roaming life
with his father, and the latter's mysterious dis-
appearance. Only then does Hunding recog-
nize in him the foe whom he has long been
Seeking to slay.
Unconscious of all this, Siegmund goes on
to relate how on that very day he had fought
single-handed against countless foes to defend
a helpless maiden, running away only when his
The Walkyrie. I 25
weapons had failed him and the maiden had been
slain at his feet. Sieglinde listens breathless to
the story of his sad life and of his brave defence
of helpless virtue, while Hunding suddenly de-
clares that, were it not that the Sacred rights of
hospitality restrained him, he would then and
there slay the man who had made so many of
his kinsmen bite the dust. He however con-
tents himself with making an appointment for a
hostile encounter early on the morrow, promis-
ing to supply Siegmund with a good Sword,
since he has no weapons of his own : —
‘My doors ward thee,
Wölfing, to-day ;
Till the dawn shelter they show;
A flawless sword
Will befit thee at sunrise,
By day be ready for fight,
And pay thy debt for the dead.”
Then Hunding angrily withdraws with his
wife, taking his weapons with him, and mutter-
ing dark threats, which fill his guest's heart with
nameless fear. Left alone, Siegmund bitterly
mourns his lack of weapons, for he fears lest he
may be treacherously attacked by his foe, and
in his sorrow he reproaches his father, who had
repeatedly told him that he would find a sword
ready to his hand in case of direst need.
I26 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
“A sword, – so promised my father—
In sorest need I should find —
Weaponless falling
. In the house of the foe,
Here in pledge
To his wrath I am held.”
While he is brooding thus over his misfor-
tunes, the flames on the hearth flicker and burn
brighter. Suddenly their light glints upon the
hilt of a sword driven deep in the bole of the
mighty oak, and, reassured by the thought that
he has a weapon within reach, Siegmund disposes
himself to sleep.
The night wears on. The fire flickers and
dies out. The deep silence is broken only by
Siegmund's peaceful breathing, when the door
noiselessly opens, and Sieglinde, all dressed in
white, steals into the room. She glides up to
the sleeping guest and gently rouses him, bid-
ding him escape while her husband is still sound
asleep under the influence of an opiate which
she has secretly administered : —
‘It is I; behold what I say !
In heedless sleep is II unding,
I set him a drink for his dreams,
The night for thy safety thou needest.”
Leading him to the oak, she then points out
the Sword, telling him it was driven into the very
The Walkyrie. 127
heart of the tree by a one-eyed stranger. He
had come into the hall on her wedding day, and
had declared that none but the mortal for whom
the gods intended the weapon would ever be
able to pull it out. She then goes on to describe
how many strong men have tried to withdraw it,
and warmly declares it must have been intended
for him who had so generously striven to pro-
tect a helpless maiden. Her tender solicitude
fills the poor outcast's famished heart with such
love and joy that he clasps her to his breast,
and, the door swinging noiselessly open to admit
a flood of silvery moonbeams, they join in the
marvellous duet known as the ‘Spring Song.’
As they gaze enraptured upon each other, they
too perceive the strong resemblance which has
So struck Hunding, but still fail to recognize
each other as near of kin. To save Sieglinde
from her distasteful compulsory marriage, Sieg-
mund now consents to fly, providing she will
accompany him, vowing to protect her till death
with the sword which he easily draws from the
Oak, and which he declares he knows his father
must have placed there, as he recognizes him in
the description which Sieglinde had given of the
Stranger: —
“Siegmund the Volsung,
Seest thou beside theel
I28 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
For bridal gift
He brings thee this sword.
He woos with the blade
The blissfullest wife.
From the house of the foe
He hies with thee.
Forth from here
Follow him far,
Hence to the laughing
House of the Spring,
Where Nothung the sword defends thee,
Where Siegmund infolds thee in love l’
This passionate appeal entirely sweeps away
Sieglinde's last scruples; she yields rapturously
to his wooing, and they steal away softly, hand
in hand, to go and seek their happiness out in
the wide world. Hunding, upon awaking on
the morrow, discovers the treachery of his guest
and the desertion of his wife. Almost beside
himself with fury, he prepares to overtake and
punish the guilty pair.
As a fight is now imminent between Sieg-
mund, his mortal Son, and Hunding, Wotan,
who is up on a rocky mountain overlooking the
earth, summons Brunhilde the Walkyrie to his
side, bidding her saddle her steed and so direct
the battle that Siegmund may remain victor and
Hunding only fall. Chanting her Walkyrie war-
cry, Brunhilde departs, laughingly calling out to
The Walkyrie. I29
Wotan that he had best be prepared for a call
from his wife, who is hastening toward him as
fast as her rams can draw her brazen chariot.
Brunhilde has scarcely passed out of sight when
Fricka comes upon the scene. After upbraiding
Wotan for forsaking her to woo the goddess Erda
and a mortal maiden, she says that, as father of
the gods and ruler of the world, he is bound to
uphold religion and morality. She then dwells
angrily upon the immorality of the just consum-
mated union between Siegmund and Sieglinde,
who are brother and sister, and finally forces
her husband, much against his will, to promise
he will revoke his decree, give the victory to
the injured husband, Hunding, and punish Sieg-
mund, the seducer, by immediate death.
Wotan therefore summons Brunhilde once
more, and sadly bids her to shield Hunding in
the coming fight. Brunhilde, who realizes that
the second command has been dictated by
Fricka, implores him to confide his troubles to
her. She then hears with dismay an account of
the way in which Wotan has been beguiled into
wrongdoing by Loge, of his attempts to gather
an army large enough to oppose to his foes when
the last day should come, and of his long cher-
ished hope that Siegmund would recover the
fatal ring which he feared would again fall into
9
13o Stories of the Wagner Opera.
the revengeful Alberich's hands. Finally, how-
ever, Wotan repeats his order to her to befriend
Hunding, and Brunhilde, awed by his despair,
slowly departs to fulfil his commands.
The god has just vanished amid the mutterings
of thunder, expressive of his wrath if any one
dare to disobey his behests, when Siegmund
and Sieglinde suddenly appear upon the moun-
tain side. They are fleeing from Hunding, and
Sieglinde, who has discovered when too late that
Siegmund is her brother, is so torn by remorse,
love, and fear that she soon sinks fainting to
the ground. Siegmund, alarmed, bends over
her, but, having ascertained that she has only
fainted, makes no effort to revive her, deeming
it better that she should remain unconscious
during the encounter which must soon take
place, for the horn of the pursuing Hunding is
already heard in the distance.
Siegmund has just pressed a tender kiss upon
Sieglinde's fair forehead, when Brunhilde, the
Walkyrie, suddenly appears before him, and
solemnly warns him of his coming defeat and
death. He proudly tells her of his matchless
sword, but she informs him that his reliance upon
it is quite misplaced, for it will be wrenched
from his grasp when his need is greatest. Then
she tries to comfort him by describing the glory
The Walkyrie. I 3 I
which awaits him in Walhalla, whither she will
convey him after death.
Siegmund eagerly questions her, but, learning
that Sieglinde can never be admitted within its
shining portals, passionately declares he can-
not leave her. He next proposes to kill her and
himself, so that they may be together in Hela's
dark abode, for he will accept no joys which she
cannot share : —
“Then greet for me Valhall,
Greet for me Wotan;
Hail unto Wälse,
And all the heroes |
Greet, too, the graceful
Warlike mist-maidens :
For now I follow thee not.”
Brunhilde's heart is so touched by his love for
and utter devotion to Sieglinde, and she is so
anxious at the same time to fulfil Wotan's real
wish, in defiance of his orders, that she finally
allows compassion to get the better of her reason,
and impulsively promises Siegmund that she will
protect him in the coming fray. At the same
moment Hunding's horn is heard, and Brunhilde
disappears, while the scene darkens with the
rapid approach of a thunderstorm. Such is the
darkness that Siegmund, who has sprung down
the path in his eagerness to meet his foe, misses
I32 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
his way, while Sieglinde slowly rouses from
her swoon, muttering of the days of her happy
childhood when she dwelt with her family in the
great wood. Suddenly, the lightning flashes,
and Hunding and Siegmund, meeting upon a
ridge, begin fighting, in spite of Sieglinde's fran-
tic cries.
As the struggle begins, Brunhilde, true to her
promise, hovers over the combatants, holding
her shield over Siegmund and warding off every
dangerous blow, while Sieglinde gazes in speech-
less terror upon the combatants.
But in the very midst of the fray, when
Siegmund is about to pierce Hunding's heart
with his glittering sword, Wotan suddenly
appears, and, extending his Sacred spear to
parry the blow, he shivers the sword Nothung
to pieces. Hunding basely takes advantage of
this accident to slay his defenceless foe, while
Brunhilde, fearing Wotan's wrath and Hunding's
cruelty, catches up the fainting Sieglinde and
bears her rapidly away upon her fleet-footed
steed.
After gazing for a moment in speechless sor-
row at his lifeless favourite, Wotan turns a wrath-
ful glance upon the treacherous Hunding, who,
unable to endure the divine accusation of his
unflinching gaze, falls lifeless to the ground.
The Walkyrie. I 33
Then the god mounts his steed, and rides off
on the wings of the storm in pursuit of the dis-
obedient Walkyrie, whom he is obliged to punish
severely for his oath's sake.
The next scene represents an elevated pla-
teau, the trysting spot of the eight Walkyries, on
Hindarfiall, or Walkürenfels, whither they all
come hastening, bearing the bodies of the slain
across their fleet steeds. Brunhilde appears
last of all, carrying Sieglinde. She breathlessly
pours out the story of the day's adventures,
and implores her sisters to devise some means
of hiding Sieglinde, and to protect her from
Wotan's dreaded wrath : —
‘The raging hunter
Behind me who rides,
He nears, he nears from the North !
Save me, sisters
Ward this woman.”
The sound of the tempest has been growing
louder and louder while she is speaking, and as
she ends her narrative Sieglinde recovers con-
sciousness, but only to upbraid her for having
saved her life. She wildly proposes suicide,
until Brunhilde bids her live for the sake of Sieg-
mund's son whom she will bring into the world,
and tells her to treasure the fragments of the
sword Nothung, which she had carried away.
I 34 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
Sieglinde, anxious now to live for her child's
sake, hides the broken fragments in her bosom,
and, in obedience to Brunhilde's advice, speeds
into the dense forest where Fafnir has his lair,
and where Wotan will never venture lest the
curse of the ring should fall upon him.
‘Save for thy son
The broken sword |
Where his father fell
On the field I found it.
Who welds it anew
And waves it again,
His name he gains from me now —
“Siegfried” the hero be hailed.”
The noise of the storm and rushing wind has
become greater and greater, the Walkyries have
anxiously been noting Wotan’s approach. As
Sieglinde vanishes in the dim recesses of the
primeval forest, the wrathful god comes striding
upon the stage in search of Brunhilde, who
cowers tremblingly behind her sisters. After a
scathing rebuke to the Walkyries, who would
fain shelter a culprit from his all-seeing eye,
Wotan bids Brunhilde step forth. Solemnly he
then pronounces her sentence, declaring she
shall serve him as Walkyrie no longer, but shall
be banished to earth, where she will have to
live as a mere mortal, and, marrying, to know
The Walkyrie. I35
naught beyond the joys and sorrows of other
WOIſle Il —
* Heard you not how
Her fate I have fixed P
Far from your side
Shall the faithless sister be sundered;
Her horse no more
In your midst through the breezes shall haste her;
Her flower of maidenhood
Will falter and fade;
A husband will win
Her womanly heart,
She meekly will bend
To the mastering man
The hearth she'll heed, as she spins,
And to laughers is left for their sport.’
Brunhilde, hearing this terrible decree, which
degrades her from the rank of a goddess to that
of a mere mortal, sinks to her knees and utters
a great cry of despair. This is echoed by the
Walkyries, who, however, depart at Wotan's
command, leaving their unhappy sister alone
with him.
Passionately now Brunhilde pleads with her
father, declaring she had meant to serve him
best by disobeying his commands, and imploring
him not to banish her forever from his beloved
presence. But, although Wotan still loves her
dearly, he cannot revoke his decree, and repeats
136 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
to her that he will leave her on the mountain,
bound in the fetters of sleep, a prey to the first
man who comes to awaken her and claim her as
his bride.
All Brunhilde's tears and passionate pleadings
only wring from him a promise that she will be
hedged in by a barrier of living flames, so that
none but the very bravest among men can ever
come near her to claim her as his own. &
Wotan, holding his beloved daughter in a
close embrace, then gently seals her eyes in
slumber with tender kisses, lays her softly down
upon the green mound, and draws down the
visor of her helmet. Then, after covering her
with her shield to protect her from all harm, he
begins a powerful incantation, Summoning Loge
to surround her with an impassable barrier of
flames. As this incantation proceeds, Small
flickering tongues of fire start forth on every
side; they soon rise higher and higher, roaring
and crackling until, as Wotan disappears, they
form a fiery barrier all around the sleeping
Walkyrie : —
* Loge, hear !
Hitherward listen
As I found thee at first —
In arrowy flame
As thereafter thou fleddest —
The Walkyrie. I 37
In fluttering fire;
As I dealt with thee once,
I wield thee to-day !
Arise, billowing blaze,
And fold in thy fire the rock I
Loge I Loge ; Aloftſ
Who fears the spike
Of my spear to face,
He will pierce not the planted fire.”
SIEGFRIED.
SEGLINPE, having dragged herself into
the depths of the great untrodden forest,
dwelt there in utter solitude until the time came
for her son Siegfried to come into the world.
Sick and alone, the poor woman went about
in search of aid, and finally came to Mime's
cavern, where, after giving birth to her child
and intrusting him to the care of the dwarf,
she gently breathed her last.
Here, in the grand old forest, young Siegfried
grew up to manhood, knowing nothing of his
parentage except the lie which Mime, the wily
dwarf, chose to tell him, that he was his own
son. Strong, fearless, and unruly, the youth
soon felt the utmost contempt for the cringing
dwarf, and, instead of bending over the anvil
and swinging the heavy hammer, he preferred
to range the forest, hunting the wild beasts,
climbing the tallest trees, and scaling the steepest
rocks.
As the opera opens, the curtain rises upon a
Sooty cave, where the dwarf Mime is alone at
SIEGFR11-D AND MIME.
-
cº

Siegfried. I39
work, hammering a sword upon his anvil and
complaining bitterly of the strength and violence
of young Siegfried, who shatters every weapon
he makes. In spite of repeated disappoint-
ments, however, Mime the Nibelung works on.
His sole aim is to weld a sword which in the
bold youth's hands will avail to slay his enemy,
the giant Fafnir, the owner of the ring and
magic helm, and the possessor of all the mighty
hoard.
While busy in his forge, Mime tells how the
giant fled with his treasure far away from the
haunts of men, concealed his gold in the Neid-
hole, a grewsome den. There, thanks to the
magic helmet, he has assumed the loathsome
shape of a great dragon, whose fiery breath and
lashing tail none dares to encounter.
As Mime finishes the sword he has been
fashioning, Siegfried, singing his merry hunting
song, dashes into the cave, holding a bear in
leash. After some rough play, which nearly
drives the unhappy Mime mad with terror,
Siegfried sets the beast free, grasps the sword,
and with one single blow shatters it to pieces
on the anvil, to Mime's great chagrin. Another
weapon has failed to satisfy his needs, and the
youth, after harshly upbraiding the unhappy
Smith, throws himself sullenly down in front
14o Stories of the Wagner Opera.
of the fire. Mime then cringingly approaches
him with servile offers of food and drink, con-
tinually vaunting his love and devotion. These
protests of simulated affection greatly disgust
Siegfried, who is well aware of the fact that
they are nothing but the merest pretence.
In his anger against this constant deceit, he
finally resorts to violence to wring the truth
from Mime, who, with many interruptions and
many attempts to resume his old whining tone,
finally reveals to him the secret of his birth and
the name of his mother. He also tells him all
he gleaned about his father, who fell in battle,
and, in proof of the veracity of his words, pro-
duces the fragments of Siegmund's sword, which
the dying Sieglinde had left for her son : —
‘Loſ what thy mother had left me !
For my pains and worry together
She gave me this poor reward.
See a broken sword,
Brandished, she said, by thy father,
When foiled in the last of his fights.”
Siegfried, who has listened to all this tale
with breathless attention, interrupting the dwarf
only to silence his recurring attempts at self-
praise, now declares he will fare forth into
the wild world as soon as Mime has welded
together the precious fragments of the Sword.
Siegfried. I4 I
In the mean while, finding the dwarf's hated
presence too unbearable, he rushes out and van-
ishes in the green forest depths. Left alone
once more, Mime wistfully gazes after him,
thinking how he may detain the youth until the
dragon has been slain. At last he slowly begins
to hammer the fragments of the sword, which
will not yield to his skill and resume their
former shape.
While the dwarf Mime is abandoning himself
to moody despair, Wotan has been walking
through the forest. He is disguised as a Wan-
derer, according to his wont, and suddenly enters
Mime's cave. The dwarf starts up in alarm at
the sight of a stranger, but after asking him who
he may be, and learning that he prides himself
upon his wisdom, he bids him begone. Wotan,
however, who has come hither to ascertain
whether there is any prospect of discovering
anything new, now proposes a contest of wit,
in which the loser's head shall be at the winner's
disposal. Mime reluctantly assents, and begins
by asking a question concerning the dwarfs
and their treasures. This Wotan answers by
describing the Nibelungs' gold, and the power
wielded by Alberich as long as he was owner
of the magic ring.
Mime's second inquiry is relative to the
I42 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
Inhabitants of earth, and Wotan describes the
great stature of the giants, who, however, were
no match for the dwarfs, until they obtained
possession not only of the ring, but also of the
great hoard over which Fafnir now broods in
the guise of a dragon. -
Then Mime questions him concerning the
gods, but only to be told that Wotan, the most
powerful of them all, holds an invincible spear
upon whose shaft are engraved powerful runes.
In speaking thus the disguised god strikes
the ground with his spear, and a long roll of
thunder falls upon the terrrified Mime's ear.
The three questions have been asked and suc-
cessfully answered, and it is now Mime's turn
to submit to an interrogatory, from which he
evidently shrinks, but to which he must yield.
Wotan now proceeds to ask him which race,
beloved by Wotan, is yet visited by his wrath,
which sword is the most invincible of weapons,
and who will weld its broken pieces together.
Mime triumphantly answers the first two ques-
tions by naming the Volsung race and Siegmund's
blade, Nothung ; but as he has failed to weld the
sword anew, and has no idea who will be able
to achieve the feat, he is forced to acknowledge
himself beaten by the third.
Scorning to take any advantage of so puny
Siegfried. I43
a rival, Wotan refuses to take the forfeited head,
and departs, after telling the Nibelung that the
sword can only be restored to its pristine glory
by the hand of a man who knows no fear, and
that the same man will claim it as his lawful
prize and dispose of Mime's head : —
* Hark thou forfeited dwarf;
None but he
Who never feared,
Nothung forges anew.
Henceforth beware l
Thy wily head
Is forfeit to him
Whose heart is free from fear.”
When Siegfried returns and finds the fire
low, the dwarf idle, and the Sword unfinished,
he angrily demands an explanation. Mime then
reveals to him that none but a fearless man can
ever accomplish the task. As Siegfried does
not even know the meaning of the word, Mime
graphically describes all the various phases of
terror to enlighten him.
Siegfried listens to his explanations, but when
they have come to an end and he has ascer-
tained that such a feeling has never been har-
boured in his breast, he springs up and seizes the
pieces of the broken sword. He files them to
dust, melts the metal on the fire, which he blows
144 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
into an intense glow, and after moulding tempers
the sword. While hammering lustily Siegfried
gaily sings the Song of the Sword. The blade,
when finished, flashes in his hand like a streak of
lightning, and possesses so keen an edge that
he cleaves the huge anvil in two with a single
stroke.
While Siegfried is thus busily employed,
Mime, dreading the man who knows no fear, and
to whom he has been told his head was forfeit,
concocts a poisonous draught. This he intends
to administer to the young hero as soon as the
frightful dragon is slain, for he has artfully
incited the youth to go forth and attack the
monster, in hope of learning the peculiar sensa-
tion of fear, which he has never yet known.
In another cave, in the depths of the selfsame
dense forest, is Alberich the dwarf, Mime's
brother and former master. He mounts guard
night and day over the Neidhole, where Fafnir,
the giant dragon, gloats over his gold. It is night
and the darkness is so great that the entrance
to the Neidhole only dimly appears. The
storm wind rises and sweeps through the woods,
rustling all the forest leaves. It subsides how-
ever almost as soon as it has risen, and Wotan,
still disguised as a Wanderer, appears in the
moonlight, to the great alarm of the wily dwarf.
Siegfried. I45
A moment's examination suffices to enable him
to recognise his quondam foe, whom he ma-
liciously taunts with the loss of the ring, for
well he knows the god cannot take back what
he has once given away.
Wotan, however, seems in no wise inclined
to resent this taunting speech, but warns Albe-
rich of the approach of Mime, accompanied by
a youth who knows no fear, and whose keen
blade will slay the monster. He adds that the
youth will appropriate the hoard, ere he rouses
Fafnir to foretell the enemy's coming. Then
he disappears with the usual accompaniment of
rushing winds and rumbling thunder.
The warning which Alberich would fain dis-
believe is verified, as soon as the morning
breaks, by the appearance of Siegfried and
Mime. The latter is acting as guide, and eagerly
points out the mighty dragon's lair. But even
then the youth still refuses to tremble, and when
Mime describes Fafnir's fiery breath, coiling
tail, and impenetrable hide, he good-naturedly
declares he will save his most telling blow
until the monster's side is exposed, and he can
plunge Nothung deep into his gigantic breast.
Thus forewarned against the dragon's various
modes of attack, Siegfried advances boldly,
while Mime prudently retires to a place of
IO
I46 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
safety. He is closely watched by Alberich, who
crouches unseen in his cave. Siegfried seats
himself on the bank to wait for the dragon's
awakening, and beguiles the time by trying to
imitate the songs of the birds, which he would
fain understand quite clearly. As all his efforts
result in failure, Siegfried soon casts aside the
reed with which he had tried to reproduce their
liquid notes, and, winding his horn, boldly sum-
mons Fafnir to come forth and encounter him
in single fight.
This challenge immediately hrings forth the
frightful dragon. To Siegfried's surprise he can
still talk like a man. After a few of the usual
amenities, the fight begins. Mindful of his
boast, Siegfried skilfully parries every blow,
evades the fiery breath, lashing tail, and danger-
ous claws, and, biding his time, thrusts his sword
up to the very hilt in the giant's heart.
With his dying breath, the monster tells the
youth of the curse which accompanies his hoard,
and, rolling over, dies in terrible convulsions.
The young hero, seeing the monster is dead,
withdraws his sword from the wound ; but as
he does so a drop of the fiery blood falls upon
his naked hand. The intolerable smarting
sensation it produces causes him to put it to
his lips to allay the pain. No sooner has he
Siegfried. I47
done so than he suddenly becomes aware that
a miracle has happened, for he can understand
the songs of all the forest birds.
Listening wonderingly, Siegfried soon hears
a bird overhead warning him to possess himself
of the tarn-helmet and magic ring, and proclaim-
ing that the treasure of the Nibelungs is now his
own. He immediately thanks the bird for its
advice, and vanishes into the gaping Neidhole
in search of the promised treasures: —
‘Hi! Siegfried shall have now
The Nibelungs' hoard,
For here in the hole
It awaits his hand 1
Let him not turn from the tarn-helm,
It leads to tasks of delight;
But finds he a ring for his finger,
The world he will rule with his will.”
Alberich and Mime, who have been trem-
bling with fear as long as the conflict raged, now
timidly venture out of their respective hiding
places. Then only they become aware of each
other's intention to hasten into the cave and
appropriate the treasure, and begin a violent
quarrel. It is brought to a speedy close, how-
ever, by the reappearance of Siegfried wearing
the glittering helmet, armour, and magic ring.
The mere appearance of this martial young
148 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
figure causes both dwarfs to slink back to their
hiding places, while the birds resume their song.
They warn Siegfried to distrust Mime, who
is even then approaching with the poisonous
draught. This the dwarf urges upon him with
such persistency that Siegfried, disgusted with
his fawning hypocrisy, finally draws his sword
and kills him with one blow : —
‘Taste of my sword,
Sickening talker
Meed for hate
Notli ulug 111akes ;
Work for which he was mended.”
Then, while Alberich is laughing in malicious
glee over the downfall of his rival, Siegfried
flings his body into the Neidhole, and rolls the
dragon's carcass in front of the opening to pro-
tect the gold. He next pauses again to listen to
the bird in the lime tree, which sings of a lovely
maiden surrounded by flames, who can be won
as bride only by the man who knows no fear: —
‘Ha! Siegfried has slain
The slanderous dwarf.
O, would that the fairest
Wife he might find
On lofty heights she sleeps,
A fire embraces her hall;
If he strides through the blaze,
Siegfried. I49
And wakens the bride,
Brunhilde he wins to wife.”
This new quest sounds so alluring to Siegfried,
that he immediately sets out upon it, following
the road which the Wanderer has previously
taken. The latter has gone on to the very
foot of the mountain, upon which the flickering
flames which surrounded Brunhilde are burn-
ing brightly. There he pauses to conjure the
goddess Erda to appear and reveal future
events. Slowly and reluctantly the Earth god-
dess arises from her prolonged sleep. Her face
is pallid as the newly fallen snow, her head
crowned with glittering icicles, and her form
enveloped in a great white winding-sheet. In
answer to the god's inquiries about the future,
she bids him question the Norns and Brunhilde.
After a few obscure prophecies he allows her to
sink down into her grave once more, for he now
knows that one of the Volsung race has won the
magic ring, and is even now on his way up the
mountain to awaken Brunhilde.
In corroboration of these words, Siegfried
appears a few moments after the prophetess or
Wala has again sunk into rest. Challenged by
Wotan the Wanderer, he declares he is on the
way to rouse the sleeping maiden. In answer
to a few questions, he rapidly adds that he has
I 50 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
slain Mime and the dragon, has tasted its blood,
and brandishes aloft the glittering sword which
has done him good service and which he has
welded himself.
Wotan, wishing to test his courage, and at the
same time to fulfil his promise to Brunhilde that
none should attempt to pass the flames except
the one who feared not even his magic spear,
now declares that he has slain his father, Sieg-
mund. Siegfried, the avenger, boldly draws his
gleaming sword, which, instead of shattering
as once before against the divine spear, cuts
it to pieces. In the same instant the Wanderer
disappears, amid thunder and lightning. Sieg-
fried, looking about him to find Brunhilde, be-
comes aware of the flickering flames of a great
fire, which rise higher and higher as he rushes
joyfully into their very midst, blowing his horn
and singing his merry hunting lay.
The flames, which now invade the whole stage,
soon flicker and die out, and, as the scene be-
comes visible once more, Brunhilde is seen fåst
asleep upon a grassy mound. Siegfried comes,
and, after commenting upon the drowsing steed,
draws nearer still. Then he perceives the sleep-
ing figure in armour, and bends solicitously over
it. Gently he removes the shield and helmet,
cuts open the armour, and starts back in surprise
Siegfried. I 5 I
when he sees a flood of bright golden hair fall
rippling all around the fair form of a sleeping
WOII].311 : —
“No man it is l
Hallowed rapture
Thrills through my heart;
Fiery anguish
Enfolds my eyes.
My senses wander
And waver.
Whom shall I summon
Hither to help me 2
Mother Mother |
Be mindful of me.”
His head suddenly sinks down upon her bo-
som, but, as her immobility continues, he experi-
ences for the first time a faint sensation of fear.
This is born of his love for her, and, in a frantic
endeavour to recall her to life, he bends down
and kisses her passionately. At the magic touch
of his lips, Brunhilde opens her eyes, and, over-
joyed at the sight of the rising sun, greets it with
a burst of rapturous song ere she turns to thank
her deliverer. The first glimpse of the hero in
his glittering mail is enough to fill her heart with
love, and recognizing in him Siegfried, the hero
whose coming she herself has foretold, she wel-
comes him with joy. Siegfried then relates how
he found her, how he delivered her from the fet-
152 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
ters of sleep, and, impetuously declaring his
passion, claims her love in return.
The scene between the young lovers, the
personifications of the Sun and of Spring, is one
of indescribable passion and beauty, and when
they have joined in a duet of unalterable love,
Brunhilde no longer regrets past glories, but
declares the world well lost for the love she has
WOI 1.
“Away Walhall’s
Lightening world !
In dust with thy seeming.
Towers lie down!
Farewell greatness
And gift of the gods !
End in bliss
Thou unwithering breed I
You, Norns, unravel
The rope of runes
Darken upwards
Dusk of the gods !
Night of annulment,
Near in thy cloud I —
I stand in sight
Of Siegfried's star;
For me he was
And for me he will be,
Ever and always,
One and all
Lighting love
And laughing death.”
Siegfried. I53
These sentiments are more than echoed by
the enamoured Siegfried, who is beside himself
with rapture at the mere thought of possessing
the glorious creature, who has forgotten all her
divine state to become naught but a loving and
lowable woman.
DUSK OF THE GODS.
HE Norns, or Northern goddesses of fate,
are seen in the dim light before dawn,
busily weaving the web of destiny on the rocky
hillside where the Walkyries formerly held their
tryst. As they twist their rope, which is stretched
from north to south, they sing of the age of gold.
Then they sat beneath the great world-ash, near
the limpid well, where Wotan had left an eye in
pledge to win a daily draught of wisdom.
They also sing how the god tore from the
mighty ash a limb which he fashioned into an
invincible spear. This caused the death of the
tree, which withered and died in spite of all
their care. The third Norn then continues
the tale her sisters have begun, and tells how
Wotan came home with a shivered spear one
day, and bade the gods cut down the tree. Its
limbs were piled like fuel all around Walhalla,
the castle which the giants had built, and since
then Wotan has sat there in moody silence,
awaiting the predicted end, which can no longer
be far distant.
SIEGFRIED AND THE RHINE MALDENS.

Dusk of the Gods. I55
While they are singing, the barrier of flame
in the background burns brightly, and its light
grows pale only as dawn breaks slowly over the
scene. The rope which the Norns are weaving
then suddenly parts beneath their fingers; so
they bind the fragments about them and sink
slowly into the ground, to join their mother
Erda, wailing a prophecy concerning the end
of the old heathen world : —
“Away now is our knowledge 1
The world meets
From wisdom no more;
Below to Mother, below !”
As they vanish, the day slowly breaks, and
Siegfried and Brunhilde come out of the cave.
The former is in full armour and bears a jewelled
shield, the latter leads her horse, Grane, by the
bridle. Tenderly Brunhilde bids her lover fare-
well, telling him that she will not restrain his
ardour, for she knows it is a hero's part to jour-
ney out into the world and perform the noble
tasks which await him. But her strength and
martial fury have entirely departed since she has
learned to love, and she repeatedly adjures him
not to forget her, promising to await his home-
coming behind her flickering barrier of flame,
and to think constantly of him while he is
156 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
away. Siegfried reminds her that she need not
fear he will forget her as long as she wears the
Nibelung ring, the seal of their troth, and gladly
accepts from her in exchange the steed Grane.
Although it can no longer Scurry along the paths
of air, this horse is afraid of nothing, and is
ready to rush through water and fire at his
command.
As Siegfried goes down the hill leading his
steed, Brunhilde watches him out of sight, and
it is only when the last echoes of his hunting
horn die away in the distance that the curtain
falls.
The next scene is played at Worms on the
Rhine. Gunther and his sister Gutrune are
sitting in their ancestral hall, with their half-
brother Hagen. He is the son of Alberich, and
has been begotten with the sole hope that he
will once help his father to recover the Nibelung
ring. Hagen advises Gunther to remember the
duty he owes his race, and to marry as soon
as possible, and recommends as suitable mate
the fair Brunhilde, who is fenced in by a huge
barrier of living flame.
Gunther is not at all averse to matrimony, and
is anxious to secure the peerless bride proposed,
yet he knows he can never pass through the
flames, and asks how Brunhilde is to be won.
Dush of the Gods. I 57
Hagen, who as a Nibelung knows the future,
foretells that Siegfried, the dauntless hero, will
soon be there, and adds that, if they can only
efface from his memory all recollection of past
love by means of a magic potion, they can Soon
induce him to promise his aid in exchange for
the hand of Gutrune.
As he speaks, the sound of a horn is heard,
and Hagen, looking out, sees Siegfried crossing
the river in a boat, and goes down to the land-
ing with Gunther to bid the hero welcome.
Hageh leads the horse away, but soon returns,
while Gunther ushers Siegfried into the hall of
the Gibichungs, and enters into conversation
with him. As Siegfried's curiosity has been
roused by the strangers calling him by name, he
soon inquires how they knew him, and Hagen
declares that the mere sight of the tarn-cap
had been enough. He then reveals to Siegfried
its magical properties, and asks him what he has
done with the hoard, and especially with the
ring, which he vainly seeks on his hand. Sieg-
fried carelessly replies that the gold is still in the
Neidhole, guarded by the body of the dragon,
while the ring now adorns a woman's fair
hand. As he finishes this statement, Gutrune
timidly draws near, and offers him a drinking
horn, the draught of welcome, in which, how-
I 58 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
ever, the magic potion of forgetfulness has been
mixed.
Siegfried drains it eagerly, remarking to him-
self that he drinks to Brunhilde alone. But no
sooner has he partaken of it than her memory
leaves him, and he finds himself gazing admir-
ingly upon Gutrune. Gunther then proceeds to
tell Siegfried the story of Brunhilde, whom he
would fain woo to wife. Although the hero
dreamily repeats his words, and seems to be
struggling hard to recall Some past memory, he
does not succeed in doing so. Finally he shakes
off his abstraction, and ardently proposes to pass
through the fire and win Brunhilde for Gunther
in exchange for Gutrune's hand : —
“Me frights not her fire;
I’ll woo for thee the maid;
For with might and mind
Am I thy man —
A wife in Gutrun’ to win.”
The two heroes now decide upon swearing
blood brotherhood according to Northern cus-
tom, -an inviolable oath, – and, charging Ha-
gen to guard the hall of the Gibichungs, they
immediately Sally forth on their quest.
Brunhilde, in the mean while, has remained
on the Walkürenfels anxiously watching for Sieg-
fried's return, and spending long hours in con-
Dusk of the Gods. I59
templating the magic ring, her lover husband's
last gift. Her solitude is, however, soon in-
vaded by Waltraute, one of her sister Walkyries.
She informs her that Wotan has been plunged
in melancholy thought ever since he returned
home from his wanderings with a shattered
spear, and bade the gods pile the wood of the
withered world-ash all around Walhalla. This
he has decided shall be his funeral pyre, when
the predicted doom of the gods overtakes him.
Waltraute adds also that she alone has found
the clue to his sorrow, for she has overheard
him mutter that, if the ring were given back
to the Rhine-daughters, the curse spoken by
Alberich would be annulled, and the gods could
yet be saved from their doom : —
“The day the River's daughters
Find from her finger the ring,
Will the curse's weight
Be cast from the god and the world.”
Brunhilde pays but indifferent attention to
all this account, and it is only when Waltraute
informs her that it is in her power to avert the
gods' doom by restoring the ring she wears to
the mourning Rhine-daughters, that she starts
angrily from her abstraction, swearing she will
never part with Siegfried's gift, the emblem and
seal of their plighted troth.
16o Stories of the Wagner Opera.
Waltraute, seeing no prayers will avail to win
the ring, then rides sadly away, while the twi-
light gradually settles down, and the barrier of
Ilames burns on with a redder glow. At the
sound of a hunting horn, Brunhilde rushes joy-
ously to the back of the scene, with a rapturous
cry of “Siegfried I' but shrinks suddenly back
in fear and dismay when, instead of the bright
beloved form, a dark man appears through the
flickering flames. It is Siegfried, who, by virtue
of the tarn-helmet, has assumed Gunther's form
and voice, and boldly claims Brunhilde as his
bride, in reward for having made his way through
the barrier of fire. Brunhilde indignantly re-
fuses to recognize him as her master. Passion-
ately kissing her ring, she loudly declares that
as long as it graces her finger she will have
the strength to repulse every attack and keep
her troth to the giver. This declaration so
incenses Siegfried — who, owing to the magic
potion, has entirely forgotten her and her love —
that he rushes towards her, and after a violent
struggle wrenches the ring from her finger, and
places it upon his own.
Cowed by the violence of this rude wooer,
and deprived of her ring, Brunhilde no longer
resists, but tacitly yields when he claims her
as wife, and both soon disappear in the cave.
Dusk of the Gods. I6 I
There Siegfried, mindful of his oath to marry
her by proxy only, lays his unsheathed sword
between him and his friend's bride : —
‘Now, Nothung, witness well
That faithfully I wooed;
Lest I wane in truth to my brother,
Bar me away from his bride l’
Hagen, left alone at Worms to guard the
hall of the Gibichungs, is favored in his sleep
by a visit from his father, Alberich. The dwarf
informs him that ever since the gods touched
the fatal ring their power has waned, and that
he must do all in his power to recover it from
Siegfried, who again holds it, and who little
suspects its magic power. As Alberich disap-
pears, carrying with him Hagen's promise to
do all he can, the latter awakens just in time to
welcome the returning Siegfried. The young
hero joyfully announces the success of their
expedition, and rapturously claims Gutrune as
his bride. After hearing her lover's account of
his night's adventures, the maiden leads him into
the hall in search of rest and refreshment, while
Hagen, Summoning the people with repeated
blasts of his horn, admonishes them to deck the
altars of Wotan, Freya, and Donner, and to
prepare to receive their master and mistress
II
I62 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
with every demonstration of joy. The festive
preparations are barely completed, when Gun-
ther and Brunhilde arrive. The bride is pale
and reluctant, and advances with downcast eyes,
which she raises only when she stands opposite
Gutrune and Siegfried, and hears the latter's
name. Dropping Gunther's hand, she rushes
forward impetuously to throw herself in Sieg-
fried's arms, but, arrested by his cold unrecog-
nising glance, she tremblingly inquires how he
came there, and why he stands by Gutrune's
side 2 Calmly then Siegfried announces his
coming marriage : —
‘ Gunther’s winsome sister
She that I wed
As Gunther thee.”
Brunhilde indignantly denies her marriage
to Gunther, and almost swoons, but Siegfried
supports her, and, although Brunhilde softly
and passionately asks him if he does not know
her, the young hero indifferently hands her
over to Gunther, bidding him look after his
wife.
At a motion of his hand, Brunhilde's attention
is attracted to the ring, and she angrily demands
how he dare wear the token which Gunther
wrested from her hand.
Dusk of the Gods. I63
Bewildered by this question, Siegfried de-
nies ever having received the ring from Gun-
ther, and declares he won it from the dragon
in the Neidhole ; but Hagen, anxious to stir up
strife, interferes, and elicits from Brunhilde an
assurance that the hero can have won the ring
only by guile.
A misunderstanding now ensues, for while
Brunhilde in speaking refers to their first
meeting, and swears that Siegfried had wooed
and treated her as his wife, he, recollecting
only the second encounter, during which he
acted only as Gunther's proxy, denies her as-
sertions.
Both solemnly swear to the truth of their
statement upon Hagen's spear, calling the ven-
geance of Heaven down upon them in case of
perjury. Then the interrupted wedding festivi-
ties are resumed, for Gunther knows only too
well by what fraud his bride was obtained, and
thinks the transformation has not been complete
enough to blind the wise Brunhilde.
As Siegfried gently leads Gutrune away into
the hall, whither all but Hagen, Gunther, and
Brunhilde follow him, the latter gives way to
her extravagant grief. Hagen approaches her,
offering to avenge all her wrongs, and even slay
Siegfried if nothing else will satisfy her, and
I64 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
wipe away the foul stain upon her honour. But
Brunhilde tells him it is quite useless to challenge
thc hero, for she herself had made him invul-
nerable to every blow by blessing every part
of his body except his back. This she deemed
useless to protect, as Siegfried, the bravest of
men, never fled from any foe : —
“HAGEN.
So wounds him nowhere a weapon?
BRUNHILDE.
Tn haffle none: – but Ffill
Bare to the stroke is his back
Never — I felt —
In flight he would find
A foe to be harmful behind him,
So spared I his back from the blessing.”
Her resentment against Siegfried has reached
such a pitch, however, that she finally hails with
fierce joy Hagen's proposal to slay him in the
forest on the morrow. Even Gunther acqui-
esces in this crime, which will leave his sister a
widow, and they soon agree that it shall be ex-
plained to Gutrune as a hunting casualty.
At noon on the next day Siegfried arrives
alone on the banks of the Rhine, in search of
a quarry which has escaped him. The Rhine
daughters, who concealed it purposely in hopes
Dush of the Gods. I65
of recovering their ring, rise up out of the
water, and swimming gracefully around promise
to help him recover his game if he will only give
them his ring. Siegfried, who attaches no value
whatever to the trinket, but wishes to tease
them, refuses it at first ; but when they change
their bantering into a prophetic tone and try
to frighten him by telling him the ring will prove
his bane unless he intrust it to their care, he
proudly answers that he has never yet learned
to fear, and declares he will keep it, and see
whether their prediction will be fulfilled : —
‘My sword once splintered a spear; —
The endless coil
Of counsel of old,
Wove they with wasting
Curses its web ;
Norns shall not cover from Nothung I
One warned me beware
Of the curse a Worm ;
But he failed to make me to fear, —
The World’s riches
I won with a ring,
That for love's delight
Swiftly I’d leave;
I’ll yield it for sweetness to you;
But for safety of limbs and of life, –
Were it not worth
, --> Of a finger’s weight, —
No ring from me you will reach l’
166 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
The Rhine maidens then bid him farewell,
and swim away repeating their ominous proph-
ecy. After they have gone, the hunting party
appear, heralded by the merry music of their
horns. All sit down to partake of the refresh-
ments that have been been brought, and as
Siegfried has provided no game, he tries to do
his share by entertaining them with tales of his
early youth.
After telling them of his childhood spent in
Mime's forge, of the welding of Nothung and
the slaying of Fafnir, he describes how a meſe
taste of the dragon's blood enabled him to
understand the songs of the birds. Encouraged
by Hagen, he next relates the capture of the
tarn-helm and ring, and then, draining his horn
in which Hagen has secretly poured an antidote
to the draught of forgetfulness administered by
Gutrune, he describes his departure in quest of
the sleeping Walkyrie and his first meeting with
Brunhilde. At the mere mention of her name,
all the past returns to his mind. He suddenly
remembers all her beauty and love, and starts
wildly to his feet, but only to be pierced by the
spear of the treacherous Hagen, who had stolen
behind him to drive it into his heart.
The dying hero makes one last vain effort to
avenge himself, then sinks feebly to the earth,
Dusk of the Gods. 167
while Hagen slips away, declaring that the per-
jurer had fully deserved to be slain by the
weapon upon which he had sworn his false oath.
Gunther, sorry now that it is too late, bends
sadly over the prostrate hero, who, released
from the fatal effects of Gutrune's draught,
speaks once more of his beloved Brunhilde, and
fancies he is once more clasped in her arms as
of old.
Then, when he has breathed his last, the
hunters place his body upon a shield and bear
it away in the rapidly falling dusk, to the slow,
mournful accompaniment of a funeral march,
whose muffled notes fall like a knell on the
listener's ear.
Gutrune, who has found the day very long
indeed without her beloved Siegfried, comes out
of her room at nightfall, and listens intently for
the sound of the hunting horn which will pro-
claim his welcome return. She is not the only
watcher, however, for Brunhilde has stolen
down to the river, and her apartment is quite
empty.
Suddenly Hagen comes in, and Gutrune, ter-
rified at his unexpected appearance, anxiously
inquires why she has not heard her husband's
horn. Without any preparation, roughly, bru-
tally, Hagen informs her the hero is dead, just as
168 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
the bearers enter and deposit his lifeless body at
her feet.
Gutrune faints, but when she recovers con-
Sciousness she indignantly refuses to credit Ha-
gen's story, that her husband was slain by a boar.
She wildly accuses Gunther, who frees himself
from suspicion by denouncing Hagen. Without
showing the least sign of remorse, the dark son
of Alberich then acknowledges the deed, and,
seeing that Gunther is about to appropriate the
fatal ring, draws his sword and slays him also.
Wildly now Hagen snatches at the ring, that
long coveted treasure; but he starts back in
dismay without having secured it, for the dead
hand is threateningly raised, to the horror of all
the spectators.
Next Brunhilde comes upon the scene, sing-
ing a song of vengeance ; and when Gutrune
wildly accuses her of being the cause of her
husband's murder, she declares that she alone
was Siegfried's lawful wife, and that he would
always have been true to her had not Gutrune
won him by the ruse of a magic draught. Sadly
Gutrune acknowledges the truth of this state-
ment, and, feeling that she has no right to mourn
over the husband of another woman, she creeps
over to Gunther's corpse and bends motion-
less over him.
Dusk of the Gods. I69
Brunhilde's anger is all forgotten now that the
hero is dead, and, after caressing him tenderly
for a while, she directs the bystanders to erect
a huge funeral pyre. While they are thus occu-
pied she sings the hero's dirge, and draws the
ring unhindered from his dead hand. Then she
announces her decision to perish in the flames
beside him, and declares the Rhine maidens can
come and reclaim their stolen treasure from their
mingled ashes : —
“Thou guilty ring !
Running gold !
My hand gathers,
And gives thee again.
You wisely seeing
Water sisters,
The Rhine's unresting daughters,
I deem your word was of weight!
All that you ask
Now is your own ;
Here from my ashes’
Heap you may have it ! —
The flame as it clasps me round
Free from the curse of the ring 1–
Back to its gold
Unbind it again,
And far in the flood
Withhold its fire,
The Rhine's unslumbering sun,
That for harm from him was reft.”
17o Stories of the Wagner Opera.
The curse of the ring is at an end. The
ravens of Wotan, perching aloft, fly heavily off
to announce the tidings in Walhalla, while Brun-
hilde, after seeing Siegfried's body carefully de-
posited on the pyre with all his weapons, kindles
the fire with her own hand. Then, springing
upon Grane, she rides into the very midst of the
flames, which soon rise so high that they swallow
her up and entirely hide her from the spectators'
sight.
After a short time the flames die down, the
bright light fades, the stage darkens, and the river
rises and overflows its banks, until its waves
come dashing over the funeral pyre. They bear
upon their swelling crests the Rhine maidens
who have come to recover their ring. Hagen,
standing gloomily in the background, becomes
suddenly aware of their intention, wildly flings
his weapons aside, and rushes forward, crying,
“ Unhand the ring !' But he is caught in the
twining arms of two of the Rhine maidens, who
draw him down under the water, and drown him,
while the third, having secured the Nibelung
ring, returns in triumph on the ebbing waves
to her native depths, chanting the Rhinegold
strain. As she disappears, a reddish glow like
the Aurora Borealis appears in the sky. It
grows brighter and brighter, until one can dis-
Dush of the Gods. 171
cern the shining abode of Walhalla, enveloped
in lurid flames from the burning world-ash, and
in the centre the assembled gods calmly seated
upon their thrones, to submit to their long pre-
dicted doom, the ‘Götterdämmerung.’”
1 See Prof. G. T. Dippold's ‘Ring of the Nibelung.’
PARSIFAL.
IT was while he was searching for the material
for Tannhäuser, that Wagner came across
Wolfram von Eschenbach's poems of ‘Parsifal'
and “Titurel,” and, as he reports, ‘an entirely
new world of poetical matter suddenly opened
before me.' Wagner made no use of this idea,
however, until 1857, some fifteen years later,
when he drew up the first sketch of his Parsifal,
during his residence at Zurich ; twenty years
later he finished the poem at Bayreuth. He
then immediately began the music, although he
was sixty-five years of age. That same year,
while he was making a concert tour in London,
he read the poem to a select audience of friends,
by whose advice it was published.
Although the music for this opera, which is
designated as ‘a solemn work destined to hal-
low the stage,’ was finished in 1879, the in-
strumentation was completed only in 1882, at
1 See the author’s ‘Legends of the Middle Ages,’ in
press.
PARSIFAL IN THE ENCHANTED GARDEN.
tº /
*io

Parsifal. 173
Palermo, a few months before its first produc-
tion at Bayreuth.
This opera, which Wagner himself called a
religious drama, is intended as the ‘Song of
Songs of Divine Love, as Tristan and Ysolde is
the Song of Songs of Terrestrial Love.’ The
performance was repeated sixteen times at Bay-
reuth, where many people had come from all
parts of the world to hear and see it, and has
since been revived a number of times. It is
the most difficult and least easily understood of
the master's intricate works, and bears the im-
print not only of his philosophical studies, but
also of the spirit of Oriental mysticism, in which
he delighted, and which he at one time intended
to make use of for the stage.
The opera opens in the forest, where Gurne-
manz, an old servant of Amfortas, guardian of
the Holy Grail, is lying asleep with two squires.
Suddenly, reveille sounds from the top of
Mount Salvat, the sacred hill upon which the
temple stands. Gurnemanz, springing to his
feet, rouses the squires, and bids them prepare
the bath for their ailing master, who will soon
appear as is his daily custom.
This Amfortas, whose coming they momen-
tarily expect, is the son of Titurel, the founder
of the temple erected on Mount Salvat for the
I74 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
reception of the Holy Grail, a vessel in which
Joseph of Arimathea caught a few drops of
blood from the dying Redeemer's side, after it
had served as chalice during the Last Supper.
Titurel, feeling too old to continue his office
as guardian of the Grail, appointed Amfortas
as his successor, giving him the Sacred lance
which pierced the Saviour's side, and told him
that none could resist him as long as he wielded
it and kept himself perfectly pure.
During many years Amfortas led a stainless
life, defending the Holy Grail from every foe,
§ .* - gº
performing all his sacred offices with exemplary
piety, and teaching the Knights of the Grail to
fight for the right, and rescue the feeble and
oppressed. He also sent out messengers to
all parts of the world to right the wrong, when-
ever called upon to do so, by the words which
suddenly appeared and glowed like fire around
the edge of the mystic vase. All the knights
who served the Holy Grail were not only fed
with celestial viands by its power alone, but
were endowed with resistless might, which
assured their victory everywhere as long as
they remained unknown. They had moreover
the privilege of recovering, as if by magic, from
every wound. Of course, many knights were
desirous of being admitted into the temple,
Parsifal. I75
but none except those whose lives were pure
and whose purposes lofty were ever accepted.
When Klingsor, the magician, attempted to
enter, therefore, he was repulsed. In his anger
he established himself upon the other side of
the mountain, where, summoning all the arts of
magic to his aid, he called up delusions of every
kind. Thus he beguiled many of the knights in
search of the Holy Grail, caught them in his toils
and led them on to sin, until they were unfit for
the holy life to which they had once aspired.
Amfortas, hearing of this, and too confident
in his own strength, Sallied forth one day,
armed with the sacred lance, determined to
destroy Klingsor, and put an end to his magic.
But alas ! he had no sooner entered the magi-
cian's garden, where roamed a host of lovely
maidens trained to lure all men to sin, than he
yielded to the blandishments of the fairest among
them. Carelessly flinging his sacred lance aside,
he gave himself up to the delights of passion.
Such was his bewitched condition that he never
even noticed the stealthy approach of the magi-
cian, who seized the lance and thrust it into his
side. This deep wound, which had refused to
heal ever since, caused him incessant tortures,
which were increased rather than diminished
whenever he uncovered the Holy Grail.
176 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
Although no remedy could allay this torture,
the Holy Grail decreed that it should be stilled
by a guileless fool, who, enlightened by pity,
would find the only cure. But, as he tarried,
many knights travelled all over the world in
search of simples, and Kundry, a wild, witch-
like woman, also sought in Vain to relieve him.
While the squires, in obedience to Gurnemanz's
orders, prepare the bath, Kundry comes riding
wildly on the scene. In breathless haste she
thrusts a curious little flask into Gurnemanz's
hand, telling him it is a precious balsam she
has brought from a great distance to alleviate
Amfortas's suffering. She is so exhausted by
her long ride that she flings herself upon the
ground, where she remains while a little proces-
sion comes down the hill. It is composed of
knights bearing the wounded Amfortas, and
they set the litter down for a moment, as the
king gives went to heart-rending groans. To
soothe him, his attendants remind him that there
are many more remedies to try, and Gurnemanz
adds that, failing all others, they can always rely
upon the promise of the Holy Grail, and await
the coming of the guileless fool. When Am-
fortas learns that Kundry has made another
attempt to help him, he thanks her kindly, but
his gentle words only seem to increase her
Parsifal. 177
distress, for she writhes uneasily on the ground
and refuses all thanks.
When the king and his bearers have gone
down the hill, and have passed out of sight, the
squires begin chaffing poor Kundry. She gazes
upon them with the wild eyes of an animal at
bay, until Gurnemanz comes to her rescue, and
chides the youths. He tells them that although
she may once have been, as they declare, under
a curse, she has repented of her sins, and serves
the Holy Grail with a humility and singleness
of purpose which they would do well to imitate
rather than deride.
In answer to their questions, he then goes on
to describe how Amfortas received the grievous
wound which causes him such intolerable pain,
and lost the sacred spear, which only enhances
Klingsor's power for evil, and which none but
a stainless knight can ever recover. Their quiet
conversation is brusquely interrupted by the
heavy fall of a swan, which lies dead at their
feet. This arouses their keenest indignation, for
the rules of the order forbid any deed of violence
within sight or hearing of the sacred edifice
containing the Holy Grail. Gazing around in
search of the culprit, they soon behold the
youth Parsifal, clad in the rough and motley
garments of a fool, and when Gurnemanz angrily
I 2
178 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
reproves him, and questions him concerning his
name and origin, he is amazed by the ignorance
the lad displays.
By the help of Kundry, however, who, having
travelled everywhere, knows everything, Gur-
nemanz finally ascertains that the youth is a
descendant of the royal family, his father, Gam-
uret, having died when he was born. His
mother, Herzeloide (Heart's Affliction), has
brought him up in utter solitude and ignorance,
to prevent his becoming a knight and leave her
perchance to fall in battle : —
* Bereft of father his mother bore him.
For in battle perished Gamuret:
From like untimely hero's death
To save her offspring, strange to arms
She reared him a witless fool in deserts.”
The youth, however, pays no heed to Kun-
dry's explanations, but goes on to tell Gur-
nemanz that he saw some men riding through
the forest in glittering array, and followed them
through the world with no other weapon than
the bow he had manufactured. But when
Kundry again interrupts him, declaring that his
sudden disappearance has caused his mother's
death, he shows the greatest sensibility, and
even faints with grief.
Parsifal. I79
While the squires gently bathe his face and
hands to bring him back to life, Kundry, feeling
the sudden and overpowering desire for sleep
which often mysteriously overpowers her, creeps
reluctantly into a neighbouring thicket, where
she immediately sinks into a comatose state.
In the mean while, the king's procession comes
up from the bath, and slowly passes across the
stage and up the hill. Gurnemanz, whose heart
has been filled with a sudden hope that the
youth before him may be the promised guileless
fool who alone can cure the king, puts an arm
around him, gently raises him, and, Supporting
his feeble footsteps, leads him up the hill. They
walk along dark passages, and finally come into
the great hall on the top of Mount Salvat, which
is empty now, and where only the sound of the
bells in the dome is heard as Gurnemanz says to
Parsifal : —
‘Now give good heed, and let me see,
If thou’rt a Fool and pure
What wisdom thou presently canst secure.”
Parsifal, the unsophisticated youth, stands
spellbound at the marvels he beholds, nor does
he move when the great doors open, and the
Knights of the Grail come marching in, singing
of the mystic vessel and of its magic properties.
180 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
This strain is taken up not only by the youths
who follow them, but also by a boy choir in
the dome which is intended to represent the
angels. When the knights have all taken their
places, the doors open again to admit the
bearers of the sacred vessel, which is kept in a
shrine. They are followed by Amfortas, in his
litter, and when he has been carefully laid upon
a couch, and the vessel has been placed upon
the altar before him, all bow down in silent
prayer. Suddenly the silence is broken by the
voice of the aged Titurel. He is lying in a niche
in the rear of the hall, and calls solemnly upon
his son to uncover the Holy Grail, and give him
a sight of the glorious vessel, which alone can
renew his failing strength. The boys are about
to remove the veil when Amfortas suddenly
detains them, and begins a passionate protest,
relating how his sufferings increase every time
he beholds the Grail. He implores his father
to resume the sacred office, and wildly asks how
long his sufferings must endure. To this appeal
the angels' voices respond by repeating the
prophecy made by the Holy Grail : —
“By pity 'lightened
The guileless Fool —
Wait for him
My chosen tool.”
Parsifal. I8I
Strengthened by this reminder of ultimate
relief, and by the voice of the knights and of
Titurel again calling for the uncovering of the
Grail, Amfortas takes the crystal cup from its
shrine, bends over it in devout prayer, while the
angel voices above chant a sort of communion
service, and the hall is gradually darkened.
Suddenly a beam of blinding light shoots down
through the dome and falls upon the cup, which
“glows with an increased purple lustre,” while
Amfortas holds it above his head, and gently
waves it to and fro, so that its mystic light can
be seen by all the knights and squires, who have
sunk to their knees. -
Titurel hails the sight with a pious ejaculation,
and when Amfortas has replaced the vessel in
the shrine the beam of light disappears, daylight
again fills the hall, and knights and squires begin
to partake of the bread and wine before them,
a feast to which Gurnemanz invites the amazed
Parsifal by a mute gesture. The youth is too
astonished to accept ; he remains spellbound,
while the invisible choir resume their chant,
which is taken up first by the youths' voices,
and then by the knights, and ends only as the
meal draws to a close, and Amfortas is borne
out, preceded by the Holy Grail and followed
by the long train of knights and Squires.
I82 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
Gurnemanz and Parsifal alone remain. The
Fool, though guileless, has not been enlight-
ened by pity to inquire the cause of Amfortas's
wound. He has thus missed his opportunity
to cure him, and Gurnemanz, indignant at his
boundless stupidity, opens a side door, and
thrusts him out into the forest, uttering a con-
temptuous dismissal.
“Thou art then nothing but a Fooll
Come away, on thy road be gone
And put my rede to use:
Leave all our swans for the future alone
And seek thyself, gander, a goose.”
The second act represents the inner keep of
Klingsor's castle, the magician himself being
seated on the battlement. He is gazing intently
into the magic mirror, wherein all the world
may be seen, and comments with malicious glee
upon Parsifal's ejection from the temple of the
Holy Grail and his approach to his enchanted
ground.
Laying aside his magic mirror, Klingsor then
begins one of his uncanny spells, and in the midst
of a bluish vapor calls up Kundry from the en-
chanted sleep into which his art has bound her.
He tells her that, although she has succeeded
in escaping his power for a short time, and has
gone over to the enemy whom she has done all
Parsifal. I83
in her power to serve, he now requires her to
exercise all her fascinations to beguile Parsifal
away from the path of virtue, as she once lured
Amfortas, the king and guardian of the Holy
Grail. *
In vain the half awakened Kundry struggles
and tries to resist his power, Klingsor has her
again in his toils, and once more compels her,
much against her wishes, to execute his will.
Just as Parsifal, overcoming all resistance, drives
away the guards of the castle and springs up on
the ramparts, the magician waves his wand. He
and his tower sink from view, and a beautiful
garden appears, in which lovely damsels flit ex-
citedly about in very scanty attire. After a few
moments spent in motionless admiration of the
scene before him, Parsifal springs down into the
garden, where he is immediately surrounded by
the fair nymphs. They pull him this way and
that, tease and cajole him, and use all their wiles
to attract his attention and win his admiration.
Seeing him very indifferent to their unadorned
charms, a few of them hastily retire into a bower,
where they don gay flower costumes, in which
they soon appear before him, winding in and
out in the gay mazes of the dance.
Their youthful companions immediately follow
their example, and also try to beguile Parsiſal
184 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
by their flower hues, their kisses and caresses,
but he stands stolidly by until Kundry, who
is now no longer a terrible and haggard witch,
but a fair enchantress reclining upon a bed of
roses, calls him to her side.
As in a dream, Parsifal obeys her summons,
while the flower nymphs flit away to their re-
spective bowers. Wonderingly he now inquires
how Kundry knows his name, and again hears
her relate how she was present at his birth,
watched over his childhood, and witnessed the
death of his mother. At this mention the youth
is again overcome with grief. To comfort him,
Kundry, the enchantress, tenderly embraces
him, and lavishes soft words upon him, but all
her caresses have no effect, except to awaken in
his heart a sudden miraculous comprehension
of all he has seen. Love is suddenly born in
his heart, but it is not the evil passion which
Kundry had striven to bring to life, but the pure,
unselfish feeling which enables one human be-
ing to understand and sympathise with another.
He now knows that Amfortas yielded to pas-
sion's spell, and in punishment suffered the spear
wound in his side, and realizes that he alone
could have given him relief. Moved to sudden
indignation by his compassion, he flings Kundry's
caressing arms aside, promising, however, to help
Parsifal. - 185
her win her own redemption, if she will only tell
him how to save Amfortas, and will reveal who
wielded the spear which dealt the fatal wound.
But Kundry, who is acting now entirely under
Klingsor's influence, and not by her own voli-
tion, seeing she cannot lure him to sin, and that
he is about to escape forever, shrieks frantically
for help, cursing him vehemently, and declaring
that he will have to wander long ere he can
again find a way to the realm of the Holy Grail.
Her piercing screams bring the flower damsels
and Klingsor upon the Scene, and the latter,
standing upon the rampart, flings the holy spear
at Parsifal, expecting to wound him as grievously
as Amfortas, But the youth has committed no
sin, he is quite pure ; So the spear remains poised
above his head, until he stretches out his hand,
and, seizing it, makes a sign of the cross, adjuring
the magic to cease : —
‘This sign I make, and ban thy cursed magic:
As the wound shall be closed
Which thou with this once clovest, —
To wrack and to ruin
Falls thy unreal display !’
At the holy sign, the enchanter’s delusions van-
ish, maidens and gardens disappear, and Kundry
sinks motionless upon the arid soil, while Parsi-
I86 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
fal springs over the broken wall, calling out that
they shall meet again. - -
The third act is played also upon the slopes
of the mountain, upon which the temple stands.
Many years have elapsed, however, and Gurne-
manz, bent with age, slowly comes out of his
hut at the Sound of a groan in a neighbouring
thicket. The sounds are repeated until the good
old man, who has assumed the garb of a her-
mit, searches in the thicket, and, tearing the
brambles aside, finds the witch Kundry in one
of her lethargic states. He has seen her so
before in days gone by, and, dragging her rigid
form out from the thicket, he proceeds to restore
her to life. Wildly as of old her eyes roll about,
but she has no sooner come to her senses than
she clamours for some work to do for the Holy
Grail, and proceeds to draw water and perform
sundry menial tasks. Gurnemanz, watching her
closely, comments upon her altered behaviour,
and expresses a conviction that she will ulti-
mately be saved, since she has returned to the
Grail after many years on the morning of Good
Friday.
He is so occupied in examining her that he
does not notice the approach of Parsifal, clad in
black armour, with closed helmet and lowered
spear, and it is only when Kundry calls his
Parsifal. 187
attention to the stranger that he welcomes him,
but without recognizing him in the least.
Parsifal, however, has not forgotten the old
man whom he has sought so long in Wain, and is,
so overcome by emotion that he cannot speak.
He obeys Gurnemanz's injunctions to remove
his arms, as none dare enter the holy precincts
of the Holy Grail in martial array, and, planting
the spear he recovered from Klingsor into the
ground, he bends the knee before it, and returns
silent thanks that his quest is ended, and he may
at last be vouchsafed to quiet the pain which
Amfortas still endures. While he is wrapt in
prayer, Gurnemanz, staring at him, Suddenly
recognizes him as the Guileless Fool who came
so long ago, and imparts his knowledge to Kun-
dry, who confirms it. Parsifal, having finished
his prayer, and recovered the power of speech,
now greets Gurnemanz, and in answer to his
question says that he has wandered long, and
expresses a fervent hope that he has not come
too late to retrieve his former fault : —
* Through error and through suffering lay my pathway;
May I believe that I have freed me from it,
Now that this forest’s murmur
Falls upon my senses,
And worthy voice of age doth welcome 2
Or yet — is 't new error 2
All's altered here meseemeth.’
I88 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
Gurnemanz is almost overcome with joy when
he hears the young man declare that he has
brought back the Sacred lance undefiled, al-
though he has suffered much to defend it from
countless foes who would fain have wrested it
from him. As Parsifal now begins eagerly to
question him, he mournfully relates that times
have changed indeed. Amfortas still lives, and
suffers untold tortures from his unhealed wound,
but Titurel, the aged king, no longer quickened
by the sight of the Holy Grail, (which has never
again been unveiled since his unhappy visit,) has
slowly passed away, and has closed his eyes in a
last sleep. At these sad tidings Parsifal faints
with remorse, and Gurnemanz and Kundry re-
store him with water from the holy spring, with
which they also wash away all the soil of travel.
As he comes to life again, inquiring whether he
will be allowed to see Amfortas, Gurnemanz
tells him that the knights are to assemble once
more in the temple, as of old, to celebrate
Titurel's obsequies, and that Amfortas has sol-
emnly promised to unveil the Holy Grail, al-
though at the cost of suffering to himself. He
wishes to comfort the knights, who have lost all
their courage and strength, and are no longer
called upon to go forth and battle for the right
in the name of the Grail.
Parsifal. 189
To enable Parsifal to appear in the temple,
Gurnemanz now baptises him with water from
the spring, and Kundry, anointing his feet with
a costly perfume, wipes them with her hair.
Parsifal rewards her for this humble office by
baptising her in his turn. Then Gurnemanz
anoints Parsifal's head with the same ointment,
for it is decreed he shall be king, and after
he and Kundry have helped him to don the
usual habit of the servants of the Holy Grail
they proceed, as in the first act, to the temple,
and once more enter the great hall.
As they appear, the doors open, and two
processions enter, chanting a mournful refrain.
Ten knights bear the bier containing Titurel's
corpse, the others carry the wasted form of the
wounded king. The chorus ended, the coffin
is opened, and at the sight of the dead Titurel
all the assistants cry out in distress. No wail
is so bitter, however, as that of Amfortas, who
mournfully addresses his dead father, imploring
him to intercede for him before the heavenly
throne, and to obtain for him the long hoped for
and long expected release.
Then he bids the knights uncover the Holy
Grail ; but ere they can do so he bursts out
into a paroxysm of grief, exposing his bleeding
and throbbing wound, and declaring he has not
I90 Stories of the Wagner Opera.
the courage to endure the sacred beam of light
from the Holy Grail. But, unnoticed by all,
Parsifal, Gurnemanz, and Kundry have drawn
near. Suddenly the youth extends the sacred
spear, and, touching Amfortas with its point, de-
clares that its power alone can stanch the blood
and heal the wounded side, and pronounces the
absolution of his sin : —
“Be whole, unsullied and absolved,
For I now govern in thy place.
Oh blessed be thy sorrows,
For Pity’s potent might
And Knowledge’s purest power
They taught a timid Fool.”
No sooner has the sacred point touched the
wound than it is indeed healed, and while Am-
fortas sinks tottering with emotion into the arms
of Gurnemanz, all the knights gaze enraptured
at the spear. Then Parsifal announces that he
is commanded by Divine decree to become
the guardian of the Grail, which he unveils and
reverently receives into his hands.
Once more the hall is darkened, once more
the beam of refulgent light illumines the gloom,
and, as Parsifal slowly waves the vessel to and
fro, a snowy dove, the emblem of the Holy
Grail, howers lightly over his head.
Suddenly the beam of light falls across the
Parsifal. I9 I
face of the dead Titurel, who, coming to life
again in its radiance, raises his hand in fervent
blessing ere he sinks back once more to peace-
ful rest. Kundry, too, has seen the Holy Grail
before her eyes closed in death, and Amfortas,
cured and forgiven, joins the knights and in-
visible choir in praising God for his great mercy,
which endures forever.
THE END.
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