Since 1862, Wagner has been before the public so constantly that it is scarcely worth while retracing his career. He received a pension from King Louis which rendered him independent; he had a villa built for him at Baireuth, and a theatre in which his notions were carried out; and he, moreover, received an adulation from a part of the musical world sufficient to turn the head of any man.

Wagner has often been described, as thick-set, short of stature, with a head too big for his body, and irregular, strongly-marked features. The prominent nose, powerful jaw, and massive brow give character to the face as portrayed in countless pictures. His capacity for work was always tremendous. In Riga, when twenty-six years old, he could conduct his little theatre-orchestra in the evening and go home to sit up all night over "Rienzi." This faculty for work never left him. I remember reading somewhere an account of how in 1859 he worked at the translation of "Tannhäuser" for the Paris Opera. The music had to be fitted with French words. A young French enthusiast undertook the task. For hours at a time Wagner would stride up and down the room, shouting and singing and swearing, suggesting a word here and a word there, a change here and a change there. If, after eight or ten hours' work of this kind at fever-heat, the scribe ventured to hint that rest and refreshment were necessary, Wagner would pause in astonishment, and say, "Oh, yes; send out for some crackers, and we'll eat them as we work." This went on until the young man's brain fairly reeled. He could hold the pen no longer, nor understand the words; he could only realize that this Teutonic demon was still striding back and forth, shouting out his incomprehensible jargon of French and German. During the last few years, the influence of Wagner's second wife, the daughter of Liszt and the divorced wife of Bülow, has had a softening effect upon him, and the man of genius has been less noticeable than formerly by extraordinary behavior and ungracious speeches.

III.

WAGNER'S theories concerning the function of music have been spoken of as seemingly borrowed from Gluck. In the dedication of "Alceste" to the Grand Duke of Tuscany, Gluck writes, "Je chercherai à réduire la musique à sa véritable fonction, celle de seconder la poésie pour fortifier l'expression des sentiments et l'intérêt des situations, sans interrompre l'action et la refroidir par des ornements superflus." (I shall try to reduce music to its true place,— that of supporting poetry by intensifying the expression of sentiments and the interest of situations, without interrupting the piece or allowing the interest to flag through the use of superfluous ornamentation.) Gluck was evidently willing enough to go the right way, but lacked the power. Wagner carried out the suggestion. He found the operatic world given up either to meaningless works of the Italian school, in which words and dramatic situation neutralize the music, or works of the Meyerbeer school, in which a musician of real genius sacrificed himself to the exigencies of dramatic rules and a certain traditional sequence in the order of the "pieces," solo, duet, and ensemble, then considered essential. It will be remembered, perhaps, that one of the offences which wrecked "Tannhäuser" at the Paris Opera in 1861 was the fact that the ballet was placed in the first act instead of the second! Meyerbeer tried no such rash innovations.

Wagner found music, poetry, dramatic action, and scenic illustration, which were all combined in the theatre of the Greeks, unnaturally divided and suffering from the division. In the opera, so called, music had usurped everything and become degraded in its isolation; the poet was asked to supply nothing but a scaffolding of meaningless words upon which to hang the arias and recitatives which served to show the beauty or range of a singer's voice. The best works of this school were, and are, weak affairs in every way: there was paucity of idea and monotony of form even in

the elaborate cadenzas which covered and frequently ended by swamping the original idea, no serious loss. Wagner changed all this, striving to fit poetry of intrinsic beauty to music akin to it in character and meaning. It has been charged that after he thoroughly emancipated himself from the influence of Meyerbeer and Weber he allowed melody to go by the board, and contented himself in all works after "Lohengrin" with melodic suggestions, which may convey much comfort and pleasure to the initiated, but mean nothing to all others. This absurd charge, that Wagner's scores present no melodies, is so generally abandoned nowadays that it may be passed over in silence. No one with ears to hear and a brain to understand can have heard much of Wagner's music without wondering that such a charge was ever made. In the whole range of music, ancient or modern, there is perhaps no more perfect specimen of melody than Walther's Prize-song in the "Meistersinger." Again, he has been charged with noisy scoring, with concentrating the power of twenty brass bands into one for the purpose of impressing or deafening his hearers. He needed large orchestras, because the idea he wished to express was complex, many-sided; his orchestral color is the most gorgeous and varied yet known, and he needed many instruments to obtain this. By his marvellous division of the orchestra he quadrupled its effect. His use of a particular strain, consisting sometimes of but a few notes, as a leading motive to indicate certain personages or incidents of the drama, his peculiar orchestral coloring, his abandonment of the set aria and recitative of Italian opera, his attempt to raise dramatic action and scenic display to the level of high art, -all these innovations have received from modern composers that sincerest of flattery,-imitation. Wagner's influence upon the later work of Verdi, especially noticeable in "Aida," upon that of Boito, Ambroise Thomas, Bizet, Gounod, Saint-Saëns, Brahms, and Massenet, is uncontested and incontestable.

IV.

As a dramatist Wagner's position is more in dispute than his position as a musician. Many things about his dramas, chiefly in the later ones, are inconsistent with our ideas of good taste, or even decency. Certain scenes in "Siegfried" and "Parsifal" are cited as outside the borders of dramatic license. It may be that the man was so impreg nated with the mediaval spirit—not an over-squeamish spirit-that he failed to realize the effect of these scenes upon the present generation. The dramatic poems which he has constructed upon the legends that offered proper material are literary works of no mean order, and would probably have been more widely recognized as such had not the music which accompanies them monopolized attention. There were good dramas before Wagner; there were no good musicdramas in the sense that he understood the matter. Wagner's stage-directions. are always of the minutest kind, all showing that skill and knowledge of scenic effect which so favorably distinguish him from other German dramatists.

Some honest German critics stand amazed at this unwonted display of taste and elegance, which to them savors of French raffinement and other dangerous and evil things. But Wagner's scenic effects are throughout made subservient to the economy of the drama. The very choice of his subjects made possible and proper the use of scenic devices which if applied to the modern drama would be ridiculous.

V.

WHAT manner of musician was this man Wagner? To no question that I know of are more diverse and opposite answers given than to this. A big volume would be necessary even to sketch the statements and solutions offered concerning this problem. Was he a good musician? Was his work profitable to

the world? Should he rank below, beside, or above the greatest of the world's musicians? As men have for many years devoted their lives to the service and honor of this genius whom they

called " master," so opponents have given their time and knowledge to denying to him or his works transcendent merit in any direction. Whole libraries have been written for and against the judgment which places Wagner above all musicians that have yet lived. Hauslick, the famous Viennese critic, may be said to have made his reputation in his efforts to destroy Wagner's. In France, Albert Wolff, the brilliant writer of the Figaro, has for years made Wagner the especial target for more or less witty sallies. His remarks last summer upon "Parsifal" sum up so neatly the objections to Wagner's later and most characteristic work that I have preserved them :

"If M. Buffon could come back among us for a moment, he would add to his natural history a study of the Wagner patron, of which there are several species. First we have the simple patron' (Protector simplex),-rare species. The simple patron is usually an intelligent biped, who in his art-judgment does not wish to be narrow he sees clearly the difference between the inspired work of the arch - musician Richard Wagner and his mathematical combinations of the last ten years. But in order to live in peace with the other patrons he is mute, and listens without murmur to the never-ending recitatives and feels repaid by the few really fine passages. Next we have the double patron' (Protector duplex), who knows little about art, but follows the flock to impress the people with the idea that he is a part of the new movement; he goes to Baireuth to be able to say at his club that he has been there. The incestuous love upon which Wagner built his 'Walkyrie' fills him with ecstasy; he looks upon such little aberrations as scientific progress, of which the nineteenth century should be as proud as of electricity. Raoul sighing out the immortal duo with Valentine seems pitiful to him. Meyerbeer has had his day, and Rossini was nothing but an amiable old goose. Beethoven may get a few good words from him, but only because now and then Wagner consents to conduct a Beetho

ven symphony, when the 'double patron' cries out, 'It's the first time that I ever understood Beethoven. Long live Wagner!' Lastly, we have the 'triple patron,' known as the 'savage patron,' who breaks his beer-glass over the head of the man who dares to say that there ever was a musician before Richard Wagner. The sight of a Mozart score has the same effect upon this lunatic that the red rag has upon a mad bull: he becomes wild and falls foaming upon 'Don Juan.'

"Some months ago I explained the story of Parsifal,' a tale of the Middle Ages, originally from Spain, which, after passing through French literature with Guyot de Provins, found its way into the work of the German troubadour, Wolfram von Eschenbach. It is the everlasting story of the good young man who, to save the princess, must go through no end of trials. From time to time the great musician is heard in this Christmas pantomime, and the close of the first act, when the Knights of the Grail celebrate Good Friday with angel choruses and chimes of bells, must have a marvellous effect. Certainly I am not going to deny to Wagner his great genius as a symphonic writer. But have not these rare moments of pure and great joy cost too much pain and weary trouble? I remember that one day, at the celebration of six years ago, when the god Wotan-that insufferable bore of Scandinavian mythology-appeared in each act to tell us a story about nothing in particular, lasting from a quarter to half an hour, the great and fanatic Liszt himself allowed his inspired head to rest upon his neighbor's shoulder and rolled forth a series of snores in G minor, which chimed in beautifully with the hoarse death-rattle of the sorcerer, Fafner, who, disguised as a dragon, was undergoing the last torments.

"It is a singular thing that this musical art of Baireuth always finds expression in some new orchestral toy. For the tetralogy Wagner invented a brass instrument something between a trombone and a steam-boiler. That was to give the grunts of the dragon wit"

n

realistic effect. When, on the first night of Siegfried,' this atrocity was heard under the stage, the patrons grew delirious. As the dragon is a legendary animal, not of our day, we know nothing certain about his voice. Wagner undertook to say that the steam-boiler had hit the right note, and all the patrons exclaimed, Isn't it marvellous how well the man of genius imitates the dragon's roar! Again, forParsifal' we have the bell-piano, which at this moment is working to the delight of the excited patrons. Another remarkable fact is that Wagner, who has announced himself as the great realist of the opera, sticks to the supernatural: the birds, the dragons, the swans, the bears, all have something to say.

May the patrons bake, therefore, in the sun of Baireuth, and let us go on and applaud in our concerts whatever there may be fine and human in this work of Richard Wagner. We are satisfied with our high opinion of his genius of other days. Leave the rest to the patrons, who find bliss in ignorance, and who would in good faith applaud 'Yankee Doodle' if Wagner had it sung by the god Wotan or the virtuous Parsifal. Whenever there shall appear in Germany another musician like Mozart or a dramatic composer like Weber, the Baireuth Theatre will disappear, having had its day, unless M. Louis Figuier takes his scientific repertory over there. Before an audience of patrons this last might have some success; there's no telling of what those people are capable."

Upon the other side of the question there is still more to say. Those who contend that Wagner was the greatest musical creator who has yet lived may say that no man has cut so deep a mark in the history of the art as he. In science Darwin has made a similar impress. For some years past, for the present, and probably for many years to come, the first question asked concerning a musician or a writer upon music has been, is, and will be, "Wagnerite or anti-Wagperite?" The answer classes the man. tachopenhauer, in his essay on the

"Metaphysics of Music," says, “True genius discovers in the single phenomenon its idea. He understands the halfspoken words of nature, and himself pronounces clearly her stammered utter

ance.

He impresses the type of beauty vainly attempted by her in thousandfold formations on his hard marble, and places it before nature, saying, • See here what it was thy desire to express.' Schopenhauer's theory finds an illustration in Wagner's work. He heard the music in the "rustle of leaves and ripple of rain," as Swinburne has it, in the roar of the tempest or the murmur of the summer wind through the forest. It can be said that there is no melody in nature; some birds' notes may contain suggestions, but, taking a broad view of the matter, there is no melody in nature, to the common ear. But Wagner heard its melodies, and wrote them in common sounds, so to speak; he translated the music of nature into the vulgar tongue understood by us all. The music of nature may be written in keys out of our little sound-world. ence tells us that there are whole octaves of sounds so low upon the one hand and so high upon the other as to be indistinguishable as music to our ears. Here is a man who, perhaps, heard this music of nature, written in notes of which we know nothing, and transposed it for us. It is significant of Wagner's music that, while he is a musician for musicians, as Collins was a poet for poets, he is also the musician of the masses. what beer-cellar in Germany are his strains not heard? And is his advance toward popular favor not constant and rapid?

Sci

In

The time was, not so long ago, when Wagner's theories and music were spoken of in high art circles as something improper, if not positively sinful. The orthodox school shrank back from his works as from a contagious disease. But Wagner conquered step by step, until his antagonists found themselves in the position of the Austrian general who, having been beaten again and again by the first Napoleon, declared that this man's manner of making war was utterly