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€olumfiia Wintbttfiitif 
 
 STUDIES IN CLASSICAL PHILOLOGY 
 
 WAGNER'S DRAMAS AND GREEK 
 
 TRAGEDY 
 
 A 
 
COLXTMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 SALES AGENTS 
 
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 LEMCKE & BUECHNER 
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 WAGNER'S DRAMAS AND 
 GREEK TRAGEDY 
 
 BY 
 
 PEARL CLEVELAND WILSON, Ph.D. 
 
 ^v/ 
 
 0tt» |90tl 
 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 
 1919 
 
 AU rights reserved 
 
\ Copyright, 1919 
 
 By Columbia Univbbsitt Pbess 
 
 Printed from type, May, 1919 
 

 
 1::) \AJ ^^ q^ 
 
 c .^.- ->- 
 
 
 REiVIOTE STORAGE 
 
 4 
 
 TAw monograph has been approved by the Department of 
 Classical Philology in Columbia University as a contribution 
 to knowledge worthy of publicatimi. 
 
 Glabencb H. Youno 
 v> Chairman 
 
 J 
 
 
 iLl 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 (X-y Wagner's Enthusiasm for Greek, and his Genius for 
 
 Dramatic Expression in Music 1 
 
 II. Do Wagner's Dramas Uphold the Doctrine op Might 
 
 OR THE Doctrine of Self-sacrifice? 6 
 
 III. Greek Influence and Greek Parallels in Wagner's 
 
 Work 12 
 
 IV. The Oresteia and The Ring of the Nibelung: 
 
 Dramas op Crime and Atonement 20 
 
 V. The Conclusion op the Meistersinger and the Con- 
 clusion OF the Eumenides: Two Remarkable Re- 
 conciliations 44 
 
 VI. Ajax and Amfortas: the Fallen Heroes 47 
 
 VII. Isolde AND Phaedra: Reluctant Confessions op Love . 51 
 
 Wagner's Music and the Parodos op the Seven against 
 
 Thebes 55 
 
 'IXjf Wagner's Use of the Orchestra as a Medium for 
 
 Poetic Expression 61 
 
 X. Orchestral and Choral Preludes 75 
 
 The Overture to the Flying DiUchman &nd the Parodos 
 
 of the Persae. 
 The Overture to Tannhduser and the Parodos of the 
 
 Oedipvs Tyrannus. 
 The Vors-piel to Tristan and Isolde and the Parodos of 
 the Supplices of Aeschylus. 
 
 [I/' Orchestral and Choral Conclusions 81 
 
 XII. Long Scenes and Speeches 86 
 
 ^Sn) A Few Remarks on Rhythms 90 
 
 XrV. Points of Resemblance between Wagner and the Greek 
 
 Tragic Poets 95 
 
 Bibliographt 97 
 
 vii 
 
WAGNEE'S DRAMAS AND 
 GREEK TRAGEDY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Wagner's enthusiasm for greek and his genius 
 for dramatic expression in music 
 
 Aristotle's definition has often served as a starting-point 
 for analyses of tragedy. But melody, which he calls the 
 greatest of the embellishments, has long been separated from 
 drama, and subject and style have changed with form. Poets 
 have not remained musicians, as they were in ancient Greece, 
 but one musician of modern times has written great tragedies. 
 Richard Wagner composed ten dramas that are performed 
 by opera companies, though they are almost as far from be- 
 ing operas as they are from being plays. To find as indis- 
 soluble a union of music and words in drama, we must go 
 back to the choral odes of Attic tragedy. But while Greek 
 tragedies are dramatic poems, with their range of expression 
 extended by music, Wagner's works are dramatic symphonies, 
 with their meaning made clear by words. It is not possible 
 to compare them without being conscious, at every step, of 
 this fundamental difference. Allowing for it, however, we 
 find many points of resemblance. 
 
 This is not surprising; for Wagner's enthusiasm for the 
 Greeks was intense and persistent. Chamberlain, in his 
 biography of Wagner,^ directs attention to the fact that "of 
 all the really great masters of the musical art Wagner is the 
 only one who enjoyed a thorough classical education," and 
 Wagner himself says, "I beheve there can have been no boy 
 
 1 p. 36. 
 
2 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy 
 
 more devoted to classic antiquity than myself at the time I 
 attended the Kreuzschule in Dresden." ^ When thirteen, 
 he translated the first twelve books of the Odyssey, though 
 no other member of his class read more than one.^ His teacher 
 even urged him to make philology his profession. While stin 
 in school, he sketched a tragedy in the Greek style, and Glase- 
 napp quotes him as saying later: *'My childish impressions 
 of classical antiquity and of the seriousness of the antique, so 
 far as I became acquainted with it in the Gymnasium, may 
 have been the cause of the contempt, amounting even to 
 loathing, which I felt for our bepainted comedies." ^ 
 
 Wagner did not study composition until, at fifteen, the 
 chance discovery of Beethoven's music to Egmont inspired 
 him with the desire to write a similar setting for the "great 
 tragedy" he had just finished. He was obliged then, as he 
 says, "to master the technique of an entirely separate and 
 comphcated subject. This presented greater difficulties than 
 I had met with in writing verse, which came to me fairly easily. 
 It was these difficulties that drove me to adopt a career which 
 bore some resemblance to that of a professional musician, 
 whose future distinction would be to win the titles of Con- 
 ductor and Writer of Opera." * 
 
 At thirty-five, Wagner resumed the study of Greek, to make 
 up, he says,* for the deficiencies in "my boyhood's knowledge 
 of the eternal elements of human culture, and the neglect of 
 this field of learning due to the life I had been obliged to lead." 
 "For the first time I now mastered Aeschylus with real feel- 
 ing and understanding. Droysen's eloquent commentaries 
 in particular helped to bring before my imagination the in- 
 toxicating effect of the production of an Athenian tragedy, 
 so that I could see the Oresteia with my mind's eye, as though 
 it were actually being performed, and its effect on me was 
 
 1 P. W., V, p. 292. 3 i^ p. 21. 
 
 2 Ellis, Life of Wagner, p. 93. * My Life, p. 36. 
 
 5 My Life, pp. 411, 415-416. 
 
ENTHUSIASM FOR GREEK AND HIS GENIUS 3 
 
 indescribable, ... to the last word of the Eumerddes I lived 
 in an atmosphere so far removed from the present day that 
 I have never since been able to reconcile myself with modern 
 Uterature. My ideas about the whole significance of the 
 drama and of the theatre were, without a doubt, moulded by 
 these impressions. I worked my way through the other 
 tragedians, and finally reached Aristophanes. My deUght in 
 the comedies . . . was boundless, when once his Birds had 
 plunged me into the full torrent of the genius of this wanton 
 favorite of the Graces. . . . Side by side with this poet I 
 read the principal dialogues of Plato, and from the Sympo- 
 sium I gained such a deep insight into the wonderful beauty 
 of Greek life that I felt myself more truly at home in ancient 
 Athens than in any conditions which the modern world has 
 to offer." The dramas composed after this are distinguished 
 by a mastery of idiom such as was seen only here and there 
 in Wagner's earUer works. They contain also the' most and 
 the closest parallels to Greek tragedy. 
 
 The persistence of this influence is seen in Wagner's last 
 achievement — the building of the theatre in Bayreuth and 
 the institution of the first festivals. He says,^ "History 
 gave me a model also for that ideal relation of the theatre 
 to the pubUc which I had in mind. I found it in the drama 
 of ancient Athens — there where the theatre opened its doors 
 only on the days of certain religious festivals, where art was. 
 enjoyed as a part of the celebration of a solemn rite, in which 
 the most distinguished statesmen took part as poets and 
 actors, and appeared as priests, as it were, before the assem- 
 bled populace of city and country, which was filled with so 
 high an expectation of the lofty character of the art-work to 
 be produced, that an Aeschylus, a Sophocles, could bring out 
 the most profoundly significant poetic dramas, feeling cer- 
 tain that they would be understood by the people." 
 
 1 VII, p. 99. ^ 
 
4 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy 
 
 While Wagner's lifelong enthusiasm for Greek tragedy 
 accounts for much in his dramas, it is easy to understand 
 why the controlling factor is not words, but music. Wagner 
 was born at the time when Beethoven's symphonies were 
 reveahng the almost infinite possibihties of the orchestra as 
 a medimn for poetic expression. Its newly discovered re- 
 sources so far surpassed those of the German language in melo- 
 diousness and flexibility thatUt was the natural thing for 
 Wagner, once he had gained command of them, to develop 
 them to the utmost. Melodic effects, achieved indirectly in 
 poetry through word-combinations, are actually produced 
 by musical tones, to which the contrasting timbre of the dif- 
 ferent orchestral instruments may give almost endless variety 
 of quality as well as pitch. In rhythm, too, the musician's 
 range is wider than the poet's. He can change more fre- 
 quently, and by using two, or even more rhythms simultane- 
 ously he can produce the feeUng of tension or conflict that is 
 the essence, of drama. To tell a definite story, however, words 
 are indispensable, and the text of Wagner's dramas is not 
 unhke a skeleton, which determines the form of the music 
 and is clothed by it with beauty, dignity, and significance^ 
 
 How closely related text and music are, can best be under- 
 stood from a letter written by Wagner in 1844, and translated 
 in part by H. T. Finck in Wagner and His Works (II, p. 24) : 
 "In the first place no subjects attract me except such as pre- 
 sent a musical as well as poetic import at the same time. Then, 
 before I begin to make a verse, or even to project a scene, I 
 am already intoxicated by the musical fragrance of my task. 
 I have all the tones, all the characteristic motives in my head, 
 so that when the verses are completed and the scenes arranged, 
 the opera is practically finished so far as I am concerned, and 
 the detailed execution of the work is little more than a quiet 
 after-labor, which has been preceded by the real motives of 
 creation. For this purpose, it is true, I must select sucjj sub- 
 
ENTHUSIASM FOR GREEK AND HIS GENIUS 6 
 
 jects only as are capable of no other but a musical treatment: 
 never would I choose a subject which might as well have been 
 used by a playwright for a spoken drama." This is enough 
 to indicate how Wagner's works differ, in the manner of their 
 conception, from operas. He himself said: "I write no more 
 operas: since I do not wish to invent an arbitrary name for 
 my works, I call them dramas, this designation at least serv- 
 ing to express most clearly the standpoint which must be 
 taken so as to receive that which I have to offer." ^ 
 
 Chamberlain says in The Wagnerian Drama: ^ "It will 
 not be lightly denied that the most intense and moving action 
 is that which passes in the innermost soul. . . . But it is 
 denied that this action can be represented otherwise than by 
 words and v^tjl^dfieds. Every time, therefoie, that Wagner 
 . . . descends into the depths of the mvisible soul in order 
 to reveal to us by means of music the true action . • . there, 
 — we are told: .'that is undramatic' But it can onfy appear 
 undramatic to one who, for the good reason that music reveals 
 nothing to him, really does not perceive the alction." "If* 
 music can never be anything else but 'arabesques of sOund,' 
 then Wagner's whole art goes by the board. His drama . 
 bases itself on the assimiption that music can speak to us as 
 the revelation from another world, and that we shall conse- 
 quently be able to go further with the help of music than with 
 the language of the understanding and with the eyes; music 
 is therefore with him a medium of dramatic expression. ... It 
 is certain, however, that it is impossible to enter into a logical 
 ^argument touching this point. For if I have the 'overwhelm- 
 ing conviction' that a certain music reveals another world to 
 me, ... no one can logically prove that I do not feel this; 
 but it is just as impossible for me to prove to him that this 
 music reveals anything to me." ' 
 
 1 G. S. IV, p. 343 (Chamberlain's trans.). » pp. 176-177. 
 
 » pp. 17^176. 
 
 
CHAPTER II 
 DO Wagner's dramas uphold the doctrine of might 
 
 OR THE DOCTRINE OF SELF-SACRIFICE? 
 
 If Wagner's dramas were as generally understood as Shake- 
 speare's, this question need not be asked here. No one con- 
 siders Macbeth a strong character, or claims that a low ideal 
 of womanhood produced Imogen. Yet such misconceptions 
 are more or less prevalent with regard to Wotan and Briinn- 
 hilde. One meets with them oftener in conversation than in 
 print, an(j they frequently result from assuming that Wagner's 
 characters are the same as those bearing their names in some 
 famihar hterary version of the legend. Yet Wagner's Tristan, 
 who prefers death to disloyalty in Act I, and his Isolde, who 
 dies unwed, are very different from the guilty lovers elsewhere 
 described. And Wagner's King Mark, who loves Tristan 
 like a son, and hardly becomes acquainted with the princess 
 from over the sea, cannot be looked upon as an outraged hus- 
 band. In the end he says to Isolde: "When all was revealed 
 which had been kept from me before, how great my joy to 
 find my friend free from guilt! With swelKng sails, I hast- 
 ened to follow, that I might marry thee to the man I hold 
 dear." 
 
 Sometimes a visual impression, received at a performance, 
 is not corrected by referring to words and music, and the 
 shortcomings of a singer are accepted as the composer's inten- 
 tion. A friend of mine was particularly interested, at her 
 first hearing of Parsifal, in the effect of "coarseness and rude- 
 ness that Wagner evidently meant to produce in the Parsifal 
 
 of Act I." I saw that Parsifal, and know how well her words 
 
 6 
 
DRAMAS UPHOLD THE DOCTRINE OF SERVICE 7 
 
 describe him. But Wagner makes Gurnemanz say, in Act 
 I, to Parsifal, "Noble thou seemest, and highborn." 
 
 The impression that Wagner's dramas uphold the doctrine 
 of might, and glorify the hero who forces hia will upon the 
 world about him, has as Uttle justification as the outworn 
 theory that Euripides was a misogynist. Wotan is such a 
 character, and of all Wagner's heroes he is the least admirable, 
 and wins the least sjrmpathy. An audience will be moved 
 by the suffering of Tannhauser, though he never condones his 
 faults, but remain cold to the suffering of Wotan, who has 
 always an excuse for the sin that caused it. He knew that 
 he did wrong in robbing Alberich, but there was no other way 
 of getting the gold to buy the fortress whose possession meant 
 supreme power. His supremacy is to him a sacred obUgation 
 — without it, he sincerely believes, the world would go to 
 ruin. When he begins to doubt his abiUty to keep it, he lets 
 war loose on the earth. For the injustice to the Rhinemaidens, 
 unfortunately incidental to his rise to world-dominion, Wotan 
 magnanimously plans reparation, once his end is attained. 
 When the fortress is made secure, maimed by an army of 
 warriors and Valkyrs, then a hero shall be brought into the 
 world to slay the fortress-biulder, take the gold Wotan paid 
 him, and return it to the Rhine. Meanwhile, let the Rhine; 
 maidens stop complaining — they have lost their gold, but 
 they may sun themselves in the hght of Wotan's glory instead. 
 To his power he sacrifices his children, Siegmund and Briinn- 
 hilde, grieving deeply, it is true, but actually believing no 
 other course possible. The thought of giving up the fortress 
 never occurs to him. This fatal inability to measure himself 
 by the standard used for others is the cause of Wotan's down- 
 fall. He established his power on the sacred laws of compact, 
 he makes the races of earth bow to them, and punishes all 
 who defy them; but when their bond grows irksome, he himself 
 tries to break or evade it. " You took the agreement seriously," 
 
8 Wagner's dramas and qreek tragedy 
 
 he says to the giants, "which we made only in jest. . . . Think 
 of another reward." Wotan looks out upon the world through 
 an eye impaired by lust for power. Like a distorting lens, 
 it prevents his seeing things in their true relations. Only 
 the agony of mortal terror, or of utter despair, corrects this 
 defective vision and gives him, on rare occasions, a glimpse of 
 the truth. But after the most exalted of these moments 
 — the scene with Erda in Siegfried — he sUps back into a fit 
 of violent anger at the Use-majestS of Siegfried, who takes 
 the king of gods for a quarrelsome old man! Wotan loses love 
 and power by his unbridled impulse to assert his will. 
 
 Not the assertion, but the forgetting of self, not the arbi- 
 trary rule, but the volimtary service of others — these are 
 the ideals Wagner's dramas uphold. It is not the defiant 
 will of the Flying Dutchman, but the compassion of Senta 
 that we are led to admire. And even he does not gain the 
 long-sought release till he puts her safety before his own. 
 When he meets Daland, he is eager to seize any opportunity 
 that may lead to deUverance. "Have you a daughter?" he 
 asks. "Yes, a dear child," answers Daland. "Let her be 
 my wife!" The demand is as unreasoning as the clutch of a 
 drowning man. No question about other suitors, or about 
 the probabiUty of her becoming the "wife, faithful imto death," 
 who alone can deliver him from his curse. But after he has 
 met Senta, and knelt before the miracle of her sympathy, 
 he overhears Eric's reproachful pleading. Without waiting 
 to learn Senta's attitude toward the young lover, the Dutch- 
 man rushes aboard his ship. If Senta married him, with an- 
 other love in her heart, she too would fall under the curse; 
 if he leaves before the wedding, she will be free. "Thousands 
 were lost through me," he cries, "but thou shalt be saved!" 
 
 Tannhauser, too, the pleasure-seeker, learns self-denial 
 before winning redemption. Here again the loving sympathy 
 of a woman is made the redeeming power; but we cannot 
 
DRAMAS UPHOLD THE DOCTRINE OF SERVICE ^ 
 
 help feeling that Taimhauser is saved, not merely because 
 Elizabeth pra3rs for him, but because the spiritual heroism of 
 her defence awakens in him, at last, a d^ire free from sel- 
 fishness. For her sake, he undertakes the pilgrimage. She 
 besought the knights to spare his life for repentance; to prove 
 himself worthy of her prayer, he voluntarily multiplies the 
 hardships of the journey. The other pilgrims wear sandals; 
 barefoot, he chooses paths where stones and thorns abound. 
 They sleep at inns; he lies outside on the. frozen earth. All 
 this and more he does, "to sweeten the tears" shed for him 
 by Elizabeth. Beside her tender sympathy Wagner places 
 the noble sympathy of Wolfram. He loves EUzabeth enough 
 to sacrifice his own hope of winning her, in order to bring 
 back the forgetful minstrel who had sung his way into her 
 heart. After she dies, it is Wolfram who, by main force, 
 stops TiEumhaiwer in his desperate rush toward the Venusherg^ 
 and makes it possible for him to die redeemed; 
 
 Devotion, like Wolfram's, wholly free from self-interest, is 
 found again in Hans Sachs, for whom it wins the loving hom- 
 age of Nuremberg, and in Parsifal, whom it brings to the lead- 
 ership of the knights of the Holy Grail. Lohengrih, the son 
 of Parsifal, . leaves the peace of the Grail's domain, and in 
 order to protect Elsa comes to live and fight among the efvils 
 of earth. The tragedy that ensues is the result of Elsa's in- 
 abiUty to make in return a smaller sacrifice, like those made 
 by the Dutchman and Tannhauser. Even Tristan and Isolde, 
 the drama of love and longing, is not without its episode of 
 self-sacrifice. Putting loyalty above his own desire, Tristan 
 takes the goblet offered by Isolde, King Mark's betrothed. 
 After months of hopeless longing, Tristan has just discovered 
 that she loves him. She has made it clear that the drink is 
 poison, and before he touches it she utters the appeal, "Tristanj 
 am I forgiven? What hast thou to say to me?" Without 
 a word of love, Tristan drinks the potion. 
 
X 
 
 10 Wagner's drabsas and oreek tragedy 
 
 Siegfried, of course, makes no sacrifice. Free as the wind 
 and glad as the sunlight, his charm is the charm of youth. 
 He is so taken up with the joy of living that the sight of suf- 
 fering only puzzles him. He is like the Parsifal of Act I. Both 
 are children of the forest, surcharged with vigor, and pos- 
 sessing an innate nobiUty of character, whose possibihties of 
 development are almost without limit. With weapons that 
 they make for themselves they slay monsters and earn the 
 fear of the wicked; but they lack the sympathetic under- 
 standing indispensable to those who are to right the wrongs 
 and heal the wounds of the world. Parsifal gains this under- 
 standing through suffering, but Siegfried is killed, without 
 experiencing a moment of real distress, and consequently 
 without performing the act which will free the world from 
 the curse of greed. That is done by Briinnhilde, who has 
 learned through anguish the need of gods and men. She is 
 beyond question the noblest character in the Ring, and the 
 only one who cares so deeply for the welfare of others that she 
 forgets her own in the effort to secure it. 
 
 The ideal, then, that Wagner upholds constantly — even 
 in the pagan drama of the Ring — is the Christian ideal of 
 sjonpathy and self-sacrifice, and those who interpret his dramas 
 differently seem to me either to be misled by something rela- 
 tively superficial, such as the self-glorification of Wotan, or 
 to consider only such incidents as accord with some theory of 
 their own, ignoring all the rest. This is what Nietzsche did, 
 and also Bernard Shaw, when they grew enthusiastic over 
 Siegfried. To them he stood for the ideal man, fearless and 
 strong, free from all mean impulses, overthrowing false tra- 
 ditions that have ruled the world, climbing to his desire. He 
 is all this, of course, and he is likewise a very lovable boy, as 
 the awakened Briinnhilde discovers — one that might easily 
 grow into the perfect hero. But in Wagner's drama he per- 
 forms only half of the task which is represented as the greatest 
 
DRAMAS UPHOLD THE DOCTRINE OF SERVICE 11 
 
 and the most needed by the world. It is the half that calls 
 for bravery and physical strength — the slaying of the dragon. 
 To represent Siegfried as the complete and ideal hero, it seems 
 to me, Wagner would have had to make him accomplish the 
 other half of the task as well, and give the ring back to the 
 Rhine. That is the half that requires understanding and 
 moral courage — willingness to give up the chance to rule the 
 world in order to right a wrong conmiitted long before his 
 birth. Siegfried is ready to part with the ring in return for 
 love, or even, perhaps, for a wild boar — he cares nothing for 
 power — but he goes no further than the thought of exchange. 
 He has not the understanding and sjrmpathy that grow from 
 suffering. It is Briinnhilde who attains this, and restores the 
 ring.. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 greek influence and greek parallels in 
 Wagner's work 
 
 To what extent the form and character of Wagner's work 
 were directly influenced by his acquaintance with Greek, 
 would be hard to decide. Only Wagner himself could have 
 told of the occasions — if there were any — when he con- 
 sciously chose to follow a certain path, because it ran parallel 
 to something in Greek tragedy. But even he could not have 
 known how differently he might have shaped the medium in 
 which he worked, if his mind had not been impressed so early 
 and so deeply by the noble beauty of Greek ideals. The 
 significant facts in this connection seem to be two: first, that 
 one of the greatest musicians of the nineteenth century re- 
 ceived lasting inspiration from the study of Greek; and second, 
 that in opera-houses today dramas are being sung that may 
 be looked upon as constituting, in some respects, a modern 
 parallel to the tragedies of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. 
 
 The relation between these facts is undoubtedly that of 
 cause and effect. Wagner was possessed, from boyhood till 
 the day of his death, by an ardent enthusiasm for Greek litera- 
 ture, especially Greek tragedy, and there are countless pas- 
 sages in his works that show, either in choice of subject or 
 method of treatment, the result of this. But there is no 
 instance of actual imitation. Perhaps Wagner never showed 
 himself wiser than when, with all his love for Greek mythol- 
 ogy, he refrained from appropriating any of the subjects it 
 offered. For a few years, he did intend to write a drama 
 with Achilles for its hero, but he ended by giving us instead 
 
 12 
 
■IP?- 
 
 OBEEK INFLUENCE AND GREEK PARALLELS 13 
 
 the Sillied of The Nibelung's Ring. In dramatizing legends 
 of his own race, Wagner was much more truly a follower of 
 the Greeks than he could ever have become by re-clothing 
 classic heroes in Teutonic garb. 
 
 What Wagner learned from the Greeks, he assimilated. 
 It became part of his way of thinking and working, and he 
 would probably haVe been as surprised as was the writer to 
 discover how many exact parallels could be drawn between 
 parts of his dramas and of Greek tragedies. The fact that 
 often a passage in Wagner is, in different ways, parallel to two 
 or more entirely unrelated passages in Greek tragedy, testifies 
 to his unconscious use of what he had absorbed. If he had 
 not said so often that Greek meant much to him, we might 
 call all the parallels accidental; but in view of that, and of 
 the exceedingly large niunber from which those in this essay 
 were selected, it seems Ukiely that some, at least, are the out- 
 come of more than chance. It is even possible that when 
 constructing the first scene of Tristan and Isolde, Wagner re- 
 called the Hippolytus, and that in writing the end of the MeisteT' 
 singer, he thought of the reconciliation in the conclusion of 
 the Eumenides, though it is equally possible that he did not. 
 On the other hand, we may see a direct result of Greek influ- 
 ence in the profound seriousness that pervades Wagner's dramas, 
 and in the large and simple lines on which the characters are 
 drawn and the plots constructed. 
 
 After writing three operas in the style of his contemporaries, 
 Wagner broke a new path with the composition of the Flying 
 Dutchman. It is the first to bear the stamp of his peculiar 
 genius, and its central figure is a wanderer, constantly baffled 
 in his search for home, like Odysseus, who had captured Wag- 
 ner's boyish imagination. He says: "The figure of the 'Fly- 
 ing Dutchman' is a mythical creation of the Folk: a primal 
 trait of human nature speaks out from it with heart-en- 
 thralling force. This trait, in its most universal meaning, 
 
14 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy 
 
 is the longing after rest from amid the storms of life. In the 
 blithe world of Greece we meet with it in the wanderings of 
 Ulysses and his longing after home, house, hearth and wife: 
 the attainable, and at last attained reward of the city-loving 
 son of ancient Hellas."^ Wagner's next drama, Tannhduser, 
 again derived from a legend, represents the conflict between 
 man's higher and lower impulses. Here, too, we may be 
 reminded of the Odyssey, for Venus keeps Tannhauser in her 
 grotto, as Calypso keeps Odysseus on her island, till, by the 
 aid of a higher power, he is freed to return to EUzabeth, as 
 Odysseus returned to Penelope. The story of Lohengrin 
 resembles that of Zeus and Semele, and by the time Wagner 
 had completed it, he understood the nature of his dramatic 
 bent. It had found its best expression by taking legendary 
 subjects, and presenting them so as to embody some funda- 
 mental problem of human Ufe and to point toward a solution. 
 This made his dramas interpretations rather than representa- 
 tions of experience, and his characters typical rather than 
 individual. In subject and dramatic treatment they were less 
 Uke the German and English drama, with which Wagner was 
 familiar, than like Greek tragedy, which he had read only in 
 translation. He felt, therefore, that in order to develop his 
 talent to the most of which it was capable, he must know Greek 
 better. So he took up the course of study already described.* 
 Then, fired by the glow kindled on the altar of Dionysus under 
 the inspired touch of Greek poets, Wagner turned back to the 
 modern theatre, and wrote four music-dramas, which in the 
 union of grandeur, beauty, and profoundly human significance 
 have not been approached in the operatic field: Tristan and 
 Isolde, Meister singer, the Ring, and Parsifal. 
 
 So Wagner followed the Greeks, instinctively at first, and 
 later consciously, in choosing mythical subjects from the 
 early epics of his own people. But he altered them with greater 
 1 I, p. 307. » p. 2. 
 
GRfeEK INFLUENCE AND GREEK PARALLELS 15 
 
 freedom, for the Teutonic legends were associated only with 
 poetry, while those of the Greeks were part of their religion. 
 (We may note in passing that Wagner surrounded his last 
 drama, Parsifal, with a reUgious halo, and called it a Buhnen- 
 weihfestspiel.) The radical changes Wagner made in the 
 legends he adapted all tend toward the elimination of detail, 
 and the re-casting on broader and simpler lines, with strong 
 emphasis on ethical values. One result is that the main 
 interest Hes in the situation of the characters rather than in 
 their individual peculiarities. What is the experience of a 
 woman forced to choose between obedience to her king's 
 conmiand and obedience to her highest conception of right? 
 What does she do and what does she suffer? These are the 
 questions answered in Wagner's Briinnhilde of The Nibelung's 
 Ring and in the Antigone of Sophocles — she obeys the "un- 
 written law," and her reward is death and fame undying- 
 What are the consequences of crime? Does wrongdoing stop 
 with the criminal act, or does one crime give rise to another, 
 and the second to a third, till the suffering of many, innocent 
 as well as guilty, results from the selfish violence of one? Wag- 
 ner's Ring is a magnificent portrayal of the evil set in motion 
 by the hand that robs. The colossal proportions of the drama, 
 the cumulative effect of the succession of crimes, the con- 
 vincing power with which Wagner represents as a law of the 
 universe the justice that lets no crime go impimished, and 
 that teaches through suffering — all these bear witness to 
 what he learned from Aeschylus and his unapproachable 
 presentation of the evil started by the hand that kills. 
 
 But the finest thing, probably, in all Wagner's work, is 
 his portrayal of the beauty and the power of sympathy. He 
 said once that the subject of his dramas was love; and it is 
 true that every one, from the Flying Dutchman to Parsifal, 
 represents, in some way, the love that causes one to feel an- 
 other's suffering as though it were his own, and, with utter 
 
16 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy 
 
 self-forgetfulness, to make every sacrifice to relieve it.^ Like 
 Euripides, Wagner created heroines whose self-sacrifice moves 
 us deeply. Senta, EUzabeth, and Briinnhilde are, in this 
 sense, successors of Alcestis, Macaria, Evadne, and Iphigenia. 
 The men whom Wagner represents as guided by sympathy 
 — Wolfram, Lohengrin, Sachs, and Parsifal — can hardly 
 be said to have any Greek predecessors, though a similar 
 feeling does influence the actions of Neoptolemus in the Pkiloo- 
 tetes and of the Peasant in the Eledra of Euripides. But the 
 characteristic which the Greeks admired, as Wagner admir^ 
 sympathy, is moderation {<rto<f>po<rvyri) . Practically all their 
 dramas bear witness to its balanced and desirable beauty, 
 even if only in the negative way of showing the horrors that 
 attend its opposite, unbridled arrogance (vj3/ms). The cen- 
 turies that separated Wagner from the Greeks brought a 
 change in reUgion, which had its effect on himian ideals. The 
 Greek tragedians wrote for a people which beheved that the 
 man who offered each god due service, and violated no law or 
 custom, would be favored by aU gods in return. Orderliness 
 and refraining from excess would produce the most satisfactory 
 life, in the end, for the individual. Wagner, unorthodox as 
 he was, was influenced by the Christian ideal of self-sacrifice, 
 accepted for centm-ies by the world for which he wrote. As 
 the Greek tragic poets were constantly showing how insolent 
 pride (vjSpts) brought destruction on the man who flaunted 
 it, so Wagner shows how greed (for gold or for power) destroys 
 those who harbor it; and as the Greeks exalt the virtues of 
 moderation and self-control (both included in aunftpoawti), so 
 Wagner exalts the love that rises from sympathy and leads to 
 forgetfulness of self in the service of others. Only one of 
 
 ^ Tristan and Isolde is a possible exception, though the sympathy that led 
 Isolde to heal the wound of the enemy she had wished to kill, and Tristan's 
 loyalty to King Mark, which made him choose to die rather than attempt 
 flight with Isolde, should not be ignored. 
 
GREEK INFLUENCB AND GREEK PARALLELS 17 
 
 Wagner's dramas, and only one of the Greek tn^edies that 
 have come down to us, has an historical subject. The mas- 
 tersingers of Nuremberg and the Persian hosts had probably 
 nothing in common beyond their worship at the altar of the 
 god, Self-importance. Both subjects, however, gave an 
 opportunity of representing within the limits of history the 
 working out of ideas generally best embodied in a mythical 
 plot. There is no more overwhelming picture of ruin caused 
 by vfipis than in the Persae, and no more beautiful presenta- 
 tion of self-forgetting service than in the character of Hans 
 Sachs. In representing the customs of Nurembei^ Wagner 
 is historical, as Aeschylus is in describing the battle of Salamis, 
 but the greater part of each drama is interpretation. Both 
 subjects also give the writer a chance to praise his country 
 — Aeschylus for achievements in war, Wagner for achievements 
 in song. 
 
 Aiming at interpretation rather than portraiture of life, 
 Wagner's dramas, like the Greek, are made up of long scenes, 
 generally between two or three characters who impress us as 
 types rather than individuals. Far from being mere per- 
 sonifications of abstract quaUties, they pass throi^ bitter 
 agony and wildest ecstasy, yet convey a su^estion of univer- 
 saUty. We watch Siegfried forging the sword, and we are 
 conscious of more than the son of Siegmund, working at the 
 anvil in a cave. We are conscious of the swelling vigor of all 
 the youth in the world, rising as sap rises in spring to make 
 the forest astir with life. We see Wotan bid Briinnhilde 
 farewell, and we are broi^t into touch with the yearning 
 sorrow of all parents who must let the children they would 
 shelter go out to meet life's dangers alone. We look upon 
 Briinnhilde lifting the torch that wUl fire WaJhaU, or Parsifal 
 raising the Holy Grail, and we realize how those have suffered 
 who help mankind. Winer's characters, like the Greek 
 tragic figures — and also like the Greek statues — are more 
 
18 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy i 
 
 than replicas of individual human models. The essence of 
 countless experiences of a certain kind seems to have been 
 distilled, and, after being separated from the foreign sub- 
 stances with which it had been accidentally mixed, poured 
 into a large flask, through whose clear glass we see the pure 
 color, with its beauty or ugliness enhanced by the shape that 
 holds it. So we see the tender glow of a daughter's love for 
 her stricken father through the forms of Antigone in the Oedipus 
 at Colonus and Briinnhilde in Act II of the Walkiire; the 
 death-dealing blackness of hatred through the Clytemnestra 
 of Aeschylus and the Ortrud of Wagner; the perfect clarity 
 of youthful innocence in Ion and in Elsa; the rich warmth of 
 manly sympathy in Theseus (both in the Oedijms at Colonus 
 of Sophocles and in the Heracles of Euripides) and in Hans 
 Sachs; the unquenchable flame of courage in Prometheus 
 and in Siegfried. 
 
 The suggestion of vmiversality is heightened in Wagner's 
 dramas by the music, and in the Greek plays by the choral 
 odes. Wagner's orchestra, unhke the orchestras of earlier 
 opera composers, assumed many of the functions of the Greek 
 Chorus, and Wagner himself was the first to call attention 
 to this. He probably never thought of a Greek ode while 
 composing, but he soon recognized that it was through the 
 musical band (in ancient Athens, the Chorus; in our day, 
 the orchestra) that the significance of a drama could be indi- 
 cated with the most convincing beauty. A comparison of 
 passages from his scores with some choral odes is interesting 
 as showing how similar effects can be produced by two forms 
 of artistic expression, both of which reach the mind through 
 the ear, but appeal to it in very different ways. It would 
 be possible for an unmusical person — provided he were a 
 classicist — to gain, by just such a comparison, a real under- 
 standing of what the orchestra contributes to Wagner's works. 
 
 Wagner's Uking for a quiet orchestral ending may have 
 
OBEEK INFLUENCE AND 6BEEK PABALLEL8 19 
 
 sprung from his appreciation of such conclusions as those of 
 the Oedipus Tyranniia and the Antigone. The first one he 
 wrote comes at the close of Tristan and Isolde, which was the 
 first drama finished after his study of Greek tragedy. The 
 Walkure, GdUerddmmerung and Parsifal also conclude with 
 music that floats gently into silence, leaving us to come back 
 to ourselves with a sigh, instead of a jolt. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE "ORESTEIA" AND "THE RING OF THE NIBELUNG"; 
 DRAMAS OF CRIME AND ATONEMENT 
 
 How deep an impression the Oresteia made on Wagner's 
 imagination we have ah-eady seen.^ It is hardly surprising, 
 then, to find him calling his longest work a trilogy. In reality, 
 The Ring of the Nihelung has four parts; but the first part is 
 entitled, "The Rhinegold. Prelude to the Trilogy — The 
 Ring of the Nibelung," and those that follow are respectively 
 "First, Second, and Third Day of the Trilogy." 
 
 In extent and in seriousness of purpose, the Ring and the 
 Oresteia are similar. Both embody conceptions of right and 
 wrong, involving the subordination of primitive human im- 
 pulses to the dictates of a higher law. They are dramas of 
 conflict, ending in reconciliation, and suggesting the continu- 
 ance of its blessing in the hves of the spectators. 
 
 Complex as the Ring is, every step in the progress of the 
 action emphasizes the idea that greed causes suffering and 
 leads to ruin, while joy is attained only through love and 
 loving sacrifice of self. As Wagner exalts love in its noblest 
 form, so Aeschylus exalts the highest form of justice. Justice 
 that lets no wrong go unpunished, and yet tempers the penalty 
 by careful weighing of the motive, is evidently guided by 
 <Twf>po<Tvvri^ and becomes the ideal of the enlightened Greeks. 
 The more primitive conception of justice, which considered 
 the deed without reference to the motive, is represented by 
 Clytemnestra and the Erinyes, and the more primitive idea 
 
 20 ; 
 
> DRAMAS OF CRIME AND ATONEMENT 21 
 
 of love as the longing to acquire, rather t^an to give, is repre> 
 sented by Wotan in Rheingold and WaUcure. Wotan puts 
 aside love, to indulge his personal ambition, and by so doing 
 ruins himself and the gods. His child, Briinnhilde, sacrifices 
 aU in order to be true to it, with the result that greed is over- 
 thrown and the world redeemed. Similarly, Clytenmestra 
 violates justice to consummate her desire, and thus brings 
 death to herself and Aegisthus; while Orestes, by obejring 
 the just dictates of Apollo, becomes an agent in the subduing 
 of the powers of darkness and the establishment of a higher 
 justice on earth. 
 
 In Rheingold, we find Wotan already king of the gods. On 
 his spear he has cut the laws of compact, by which the world 
 is ruled. To assure his supremacy, Wotan wants an impreg- 
 nable fortress. The gods cannot build it, for their power is 
 of the mind and spirit, and the piling of stones can be accom- 
 plished only by the giants. These agree to build the castle, 
 if Wotan will surrender to them as payment Preia, goddess 
 of love. Wotan, confident that he can get them to accept 
 some other recompense when the time comes, sends Loge to 
 find it. But Loge discovers, in all the world, only one creature 
 who will take a substitute for love. Alberich, the Nibelung, 
 has already renounced love, in order to make a bit of gold, 
 stolen from the Rhine, into a magic ring, which will win the 
 whole earth for its owner. The giants declare that they will 
 take either Alberich's treasure, or Freia, but one of the two 
 they must have. Wotan di^races his gbdhood by robbing 
 Alberich to save Freia and buy the castle, that he now names 
 WfdhaU.^ The Rheingold ends with a display of pomp. The 
 gods march over a rainbow bridge to their fortress, resplendent 
 in the simset. To the eye they appear secure, as Clytenmes- 
 tra does when she enters her palace with Aegisthus; but here, 
 also, the coming retribution has cast its shadow before. As 
 * This form of tiie name is used by Wagner. 
 
22 WAiSNER's DRAMAS AND GREEK TRAGEDY 
 
 -i 
 
 the prophetess, Cassandra, in the Agamemnon (1279 flf.) has 
 foretold Clytemnestra's death, so Erda has risen from the 
 heart of the earth to warn Wotan; and as the Chorus refers 
 to the coming of Orestes, the avenger (1667), and says to 
 Aegisthus (1669), "Go on, grow fat polluting justice, since 
 you can," so at the end of Rheingold, Loge foretells the 
 downfall of the gods, while the last words (sung by the 
 Rhinemaidens in the river below) are: "False and afraid are 
 the beings who flaunt their power above." i 
 
 In both dramas there was a partial excuse for the crime. 
 Agamemnon was not innocent, and even the Chorus, opposed 
 to Clytenmestra as they are, cannot approve the deeds to 
 which ambition led him (228-237 and 790 ff.). It was right 
 that Agamenmon should suffer, but it was wrong for Cly- 
 temnestra to kill him as she did. It was equally right that 
 the gold should be taken from Alberich. He had stolen it 
 from the Rhine, and was planning to use it for evil. The 
 wrong was in Wotan's motive, as it was in Clytenmestra's. 
 He never intended to restore the gold to the Rhine. Instead, 
 he used it to buy the castle his ambition craved; so he became 
 subject to the curse, which abides in the ring, as the aXaarotp 
 in the house of Atreus, and destroys everyone whose hand 
 seizes it. 
 
 The Walkure shows how Wotan pays the penalty for the 
 crime conunitted in Rheingold. Its central idea is indicated 
 in the words of the despairing god himself (Act II): "I laid 
 hands on Alberich's ring, greedily grasped the gold! Of the 
 curse that I fled I feel the clutch. Whatever I love, I must 
 lose, I must kill whatever I care for, deceiving, betraying him 
 who trusted me." 
 
 He is aware of the connection of the suffering with the 
 crime, as Clytemnestra is (Choe. 888): "By guile I shall be 
 slain, even as I slew." The same idea is expressed even more 
 forcibly by Orestes (923): "On thyself thou, not I, wilt bring 
 
DRAMAS OP CRIBCE AND ATONEMENT 23 
 
 death." The retribution for Wotan's crime, however, is but 
 half completed when he makes the lament quoted. Then 
 he has been forced to conmiand the death of his only son. 
 With the purpose of bringing into being a hero who could 
 restore the ring, Wotan had married a mortal, and their 
 son, Siegmimd, had been destined, in the god's beUef, to re- 
 deem the world from the curse of greed. His death is also 
 the death of Wotan's plan for atonement. It is Fricka, god- 
 dess of custom, who makes him consent to this; and in yield- 
 ing to her, Wotan again violates love, in order to maintain 
 the supremacy of the gods. But his daughter, Briinnhilde, 
 is unable to follow his example. She tries to protect Sieg- 
 mund, and so loses her godhood, and separates herself from 
 Wotan forever. Thus the god discovers that the penalty 
 for his greed is the loss of the children he loves. 
 
 Up to this point, the psychological side of the drama is 
 comparatively simple. Like Clytemnestra, Wotan sinned 
 and met punishment, in which his own child was an agent. 
 The child's motive was right, where the parent's had been 
 wrong, but the child's act, viewed without regard to the mo- 
 tive, was a violation of the hoUest traditions. In opposing 
 Wotan, Briinnhilde defies not only the god whose will rules 
 the world, but also the father whose love has given her every- 
 thing. As Clytemnestra appeals to Orestes by emphasizing 
 the claim of her motherhood, causing him to doubt, for a 
 moment, the justice of his act (896-899), so Wotan cries: 
 "Hearest thou, Briinnhilde? Thou whose breastplate, hel- 
 met and weapons, heart-winning ways, name and life, are 
 all my gift?" Briinnhilde feels that she has done wrong to 
 oppose him, and also that she has done right in fighting for 
 Siegmimd. So the psychological conflict begins, which, like 
 that in the soul of Orestes, does not end until the close of 
 the drama, when the two warring elements become reconciled. 
 
 The last two divisions of the Ring, taken together, form a 
 
24 waoner's dramas axd obeek traqedt 
 
 drama of reconciliation parallel to the Eumenides. In Siegfried, 
 Wotan realizes that BriUinhilde, through her defiance, will 
 accomplish his wish — the restoration of the ring. In GStter- 
 ddmmerung, Briinnhilde comes to imderstand what she had 
 always felt — that in being true to love she is not thwarting, 
 but fulfilling Wotan's desire. Through this reconciliation 
 the purpose of both is accomplished — the conquest of greed 
 by love. The result of the impressive reconciliation at the 
 close of the Oresteia is similar. True justice — the aim of 
 the Eumenides and of their victim — is estabUshed. I 
 
 How far one may go in analyzing the Ring and the Oresteia 
 and still continue to find points of resemblance is indicated in 
 the comparison that follows. Probably Wagner did not know 
 that the parallel was so close; but, on the other -hand, we 
 cannot tell how differently he might have constructed his 
 drama, if he had not read and responded to the Oresteia so 
 enthusiastically. 
 
 II ' 
 
 Scene IV of Rheingold and The Conclusion of the 
 
 Agamemnon 
 
 In the final scene of Rheingold, as in the conclusion of the 
 Agamemnon, the first great crime in the tragedy has been 
 committed, and the criminal enjoys his hour of triumph. But 
 the audience realizes the moral aspect of the situation to 
 which he remains blind; for the dramatist subordinates the 
 visible to the spiritual situation in such a way that every 
 circumstance of triumph becomes an omen of approaching 
 ruin. 
 
 While Wotan, regardless of his sin in the moment of victory 
 is not unlike Clytemnestra, we can find no corresponding 
 resemblance between their victims. Both of these, however, 
 have been entrapped by flattery (Ag. 905 flf. and Rheingold, 
 Scene III), and the mask assumed to deceive them is thrown 
 
DRAlfAS OF CRIME AND ATONEMENT 25 
 
 o£f at the begiimmg of the final scene. Wotan says: "Cap- 
 tive thou arty I hold thee bound, caught as thou wert 
 dreaming that all the world had come under thy power." 
 Wotan's attitude is like Clytemnestra's (1372-1373): "Much 
 that was said before to serve my purpose I shall contradict 
 without the slightest shame." The way in which the crime 
 was committed is then described by Aeschylus through the 
 mouth of Clytemnestra, but represented by Wagner on the 
 stage. It is completed when Wotan pulls the ring from 
 Alberich^s hand: 
 
 Alb. (with a hideous shriek). Woe is me, broken and crushed, 
 of the wretched the wretchedest slave! 
 
 Wot. (has pui the ring on his finger and looks at it with satis- 
 faction). Now I hold what exalts me, of the mighty the might- 
 iest lord!" 
 
 A similarly close connection between the victim's misery and 
 the victor's satisfaction is expressed in w. 1389-1392. Wotan, 
 after he has secured the ring, is indifferent to Alberich and his 
 threats. Asked by Loge if he has listened to them, Wotan, 
 lost in contemplation of the ring, answers, "Let him enjoy 
 his sputtering spleen!" So Clytemnestra, having gained 
 her purpose, is indifferent to the opinion of the Chorus (1393- 
 1394 and 1403-1404): "Since these things are, ye revered 
 elders of Argos, rejoice, if you like; as for me, I exult. . . . 
 Whether thou wilt praise or blame me, it is all the same." 
 The suggestion of the consequences of the crime is then 
 made by the orchestra in Rheingold, by the Chorus in the 
 Agamemnon (1410-1411). A musical effect of some grandeur 
 accompanies Wotan's words, "Of the mighty the mightiest 
 lord!" but the Ring motive follows immediately, destroying, 
 with its introduction of the diminished seventh, the impres- 
 sion of stability given by the preceding harmonies. When- 
 ever the ring changes hands, the new owner's gain involves 
 
26 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy i 
 
 i 
 
 the former owner's loss, but it is only the idea of loss that 
 receives expression in the Ring motive. It was the Rhine- 
 maidens' loss that we felt when the motive made its first 
 appearance in the score, after Alberich had stolen the gold; 
 and this original association, added to the harmonic character 
 of the motive itself, makes it always ominous. He who has 
 wrested the ring from another will have it wrested from him 
 in turn. ! 
 
 Even before taking the ring, Wotan has justified his action, 
 as Clytemnestra does (1412 ff. and 1497 ff.), by pointing out 
 that his victim is far from blameless. Like Cl5rtemnestra, 
 he ignores the fact that his selfish motive makes it impossible 
 for him to be considered merely the instrument of justice. 
 
 His infatuation is evident in his scorn for the curse uttered 
 by Alberich. The fact that the Nibelung himself has already 
 paid for seizing the gold, by exactly such suffering as he now 
 calls down on Wotan's head, intensifies the ominous signifi- 
 cance of his imprecations for the audience, but has not the 
 sUghtest effect on the god. Equally significant to us, and 
 unimportant to Clytemnestra, are the Chorus's Unes (1426- 
 1430) : "In dishonor, bereft of friends, thou shalt yet be 
 stricken down as thou didst strike," of which the last two 
 point directly to Clytemnestra's death and to Choephoroi 
 888: "By guile I shall be slain, even as I slew," as Alberich's 
 words anticipate the moment in the Walkiire when Wotan, 
 suffering for the crime he now ignores, says: "Of the curse 
 that I fled I feel the clutch." But in Rheingold he has no 
 fear of such suffering, and for defence against any whose 
 hatred he may have incurred he relfes on his fortress, an 
 external aid which would be useless as protection against 
 moral law, and for which Wotan has really committed 
 the crime from whose results he expects it to save him. 
 Parallel to this is Clytemnestra's relation to Aegisthus, on 
 whom she now reUes. 
 
DRAMAS OF CRIME AND ATONEMENT 27 
 
 The reference to a higher power, to which even the evil 
 force so active in the drama (the curse of greed in Rheingold — 
 in the Agamemnon, the &u/ia>v, v. 1468) is subservient, gives us 
 a most impressive passage in Rheingold, as in the Agam,emnon. 
 With Erda's appearance, and the marvellous music in voice 
 and orchestra that distinguishes this part of the score, our 
 thoughts are turned, for the time, from the ignoble acts we 
 have been watching to something greater — to the change- 
 less source of all the changing life of earth, holding in its un- 
 fathomable mystery the resolution of the discords that rend 
 the world. Gods and giants become insignificant, as the 
 Nature motive flows from the orchestra, and Erda sings. A 
 similar turning of our attention from the crime that we have 
 been contemplating to the divine plan, in which all things 
 serve a purpose, is effected by w. 1485-1488. This m^tif ap- 
 peared before in the first lyric passage of the drama (160 flf.) 
 as the Nature motive appeared in the Vorspiel to Rheingold. 
 
 In Rheingold, when the crime is past, the ciu-se of greed, 
 with the destruction that follows in its wake, is still kept be- 
 fore oiu* minds by the quarrel of the giants and the murder of 
 Fasolt. In the Agamemnon an old crime is recalled in order 
 that the horrible persistence of the Satfwov may be fully realized 
 (146^1471). 
 
 The lament, essentially lyric in character, of the Rhine- 
 maidens for their lost gold, introduces an element such as is 
 suppUed by the i<l>vfivu>v (1489-1496 and 1513-1520). It 
 serves also to recall the mind from the moral aspects of the 
 situation to the concrete object on which the crime has been 
 perpetrated. It begins with the cry "Rheingold!" as the 
 chorus begins (1489), "O king!" It concludes with a refer- 
 ence to the perpetration of the crime, "False and afraid are 
 the beings who flaimt their power above," as does the c<^v/uiviov 
 (1495-1496), "Subdued by a treacherous destruction with the 
 two-edged weapon in the hand of a wife." 
 
28 WAONER's DRAliAS AND QREEK TRAGEDY | 
 
 The link that connects the close of Rheingold with the be- 
 ginning of the Walkure is in the orchestra. The Donner motive, 
 with the call, ''Heda!" appears again in measures 73-95 of 
 the Walkure Vorspiel. Similarly an echo of Ax^P"' X«V*»' 
 {Ag. 545) is found in x*/**" <ix<¥>*''o»' {Choe. 42). As the 
 emotional storm that rages from beginning to end of Wal- 
 kure is anticipated by the actual storm in Rheingold, the 
 ChoSphoroi is anticipated by Agamemnon 1541-1550. ! 
 
 To the last lyric utterance of the Chorus in the Agamemnon 
 we can find parallels — mainly in the orchestral part — in 
 Rheingold. WalhaU, gilded by the sunset, is glorious in the 
 eyes of the gods, but so was the hoard of treasure in the eyes 
 of Alberich. Both were purchased with stolen gold, as the 
 Ring motive following the WalhaU motive reminds us, when 
 Wotan sings, "Abendlich strahlt," etc. We might well say 
 of the situation in Rheingold, Swr/taxa 8' ia-n Kplvai (Ag. 1561). 
 The robber Alberich has been robbed (cf. Ag. 1562, <l>fp€i 
 tftepovr'; iKxCvu 8' 6 kcuVwv). Wotan also has become a robber, 
 and the Nature motive, that follows the Ring motive while 
 Wotan is silent, brings to mind again the law that is stronger 
 than Wotan and WalhaU, that cannot leave his sin un- 
 punished any more than Alberich's (cf. Ag. 1563-1564, "The 
 law holds, while Zeus holds his throne, that the sinner must 
 sufifer. Thus it is ordained"). 
 
 Wotan's trials have brought about in him a moral change,, 
 incomplete, but important and such as Clytenmestra never 
 experiences. It makes him determine to right the wrong 
 he has done. He stands "as though seized with a great idea," 
 while we hear in the orchestra the Sword motive. Wotan 
 raises a sword, but the weapon is only the visible, as the motive 
 is the audible s3niibol of his purpose. For although the sword 
 and the motive are closely associated in the Walkure and 
 Siegfried, one of the most significant appearances of the phrase 
 occurs when the sword is neither in sight nor in mind. It 
 
V DRAMAS OF CRIMB AND ATONEMENT 29 
 
 is when greed, embodied in Hagen, is conquered, unable to 
 take the ring from the hand of the dead Signed. By the 
 Sword motive, that episode so near the end of the GoUer- 
 ddmmerung is connected mth this passage in Rheingold. And 
 in a similar way Agamemnon 1565, "Who might cast the tribe 
 of curses from the house?" anticipates the Eumenides, and 
 may be connected with Eumenides 754-761, "O Pallas, thou 
 who hast delivered my house." 
 
 As the Rheingold draws to a cl(»e, the centre of the stage is 
 occupied no longer by Wotan, but by WalhaU. To gain and 
 hold this fortress Wotan has committed the crime out of which 
 other and more horrible crimes are to grow. Wotan's crime 
 bears much the same relation to WcdhaU as Clytenmestra's 
 does to A^isthus, who occupies the foreground in the extXoyos 
 of the Agamemnon. It is on WalkaU, that Wotan rehes as 
 a defence against all who might question his past action or 
 his future right to rule. Clytemnestra's reliance on A^isthus 
 is similar (1434-1437). The stolen ring made from stolen 
 gold was the price paid for WalhaU, but the connection 
 between them is closer than that. The ring was the tool 
 and the symbol of Alberich's greed — what is WaUiaU but 
 the tool and the symbol of Wotan's? E^ch motive (in its 
 usual form) fills two measures, and in the first of these two 
 measures the rhythm of both is identical. Now the WalhaU 
 motive is followed by the Ring motive, which accompanies 
 Loge's words, "To their end they hasten, they who think 
 themselves strong and secure." Aegisthus, when he enters 
 at the close of the Ko/ifios, makes a transient impression of 
 power. His attendants (1650) are about him, and he speaks 
 of the revolting crime of Atreus in a way that makes us feel 
 that no penalty exacted for it could be too great. His weak- 
 ness, however, becomes apparent, first in the vfipK of w. 
 1604-1611, and thereafter in the rising anger with which he 
 answers the taunts of the Chorus. Before Qytenmestra pro- 
 
30 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy 
 
 nounces the last words, we realize that the support on which 
 she depends, too closely involved in her own guilt to be 
 of any avail, is doomed to perish with her. This is sug- 
 gested by the Chorus (1646-1648): "Is Orestes aUve, that 
 he may return hither and, with fortune's aid, vanquish and 
 slay them both?" as the destruction of Wotan and his castle 
 is foreseen by Loge. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The Choephoroi and the Ring 
 
 The Walkiire begins with Wotan's effort to atone for the 
 wrong that he has done. It is not repentance, however, that 
 prompts him, but fear, as is evident from his revelations to 
 Briinnhilde in Act II. His attempt is to avert "what the earth- 
 goddess made me fear — a shameful end of the immortals." 
 It is not unlike the fear that moves Clytemnestra to order the 
 propitiatory libations to Agamenmon (Choe. 32-33), "pierc- 
 ing, hair-raising fear, coming to the house in dreams as a 
 prophet of evil." Neither Clytemnestra nor Wotan would 
 have made such attempts if their fear had not been roused 
 by warnings, terrifying because of their partial obscurity and 
 their supematiu*al origin. Wotan's warning followed his 
 crime inmiediately, and the reparation he planned required 
 many years, but all this makes his attempt no less futile than 
 Clytenmestra's. If Siegmund, after finding Wotan's sword, 
 had Uved to kiU Fafner and given the ring back to the Rhine, 
 who but the god, blinded by his love of power, could then 
 think that his crime was as though it had never been? As 
 long as Wotan lives in the castle bought by the ring, the stain 
 of guilt remains on him, as it must always remain on Cly- 
 tenmestra (Choe. 48). His endeavor to bring about through 
 Siegmund the incomplete reparation which is all he considers 
 necessary leads to the revolt of Briinnhilde and so to the 
 complete reparation, involving the fall of the gods. In a 
 
DRAMAS OF CRIME AND ATONEMENT 31 
 
 similar way, the sending out of libation-pwurers by Cljrtem- 
 nestra to appease the spirit of Agamemnon brings about the 
 meeting of Orestes and Electra, furthering the real appease- 
 ment through Clytemnestra's death. 
 
 There is even a recognition-scene between brother and 
 sister to make the first act of the Walkure more like the be- 
 ginning of the Choephoroi. The relation of the characters to 
 the central idea in the two dramas is not the same, for here it is 
 not Brtinnhilde, but Siegmund, who becomes the counterpart 
 of Orestes. The scene is noteworthy, however, both as an 
 instance of parallel dramatic construction occurring in the 
 same relative place in the development of the plot, and as the 
 only ivayviopuTK in Wagner. Here, also, it is the sister who 
 recognizes the brother, and to whom the recognition means 
 more. The first two steps toward recognition Sieglinde takes 
 alone, as Electra does when examining the lock of hair and 
 the footprints. It is by Siegmund's resemblance to herself 
 that she is surprised: "ein Wunder will mich gemahnen," etc. 
 The third step is taken only with Siegmund's aid. His reve- 
 lation of his father's name is parallel to the production of the 
 mantle by Orestes, and calls forth an outburst of joy similar to 
 w. 235-237. Both Siegmund and Orestes have come to claim 
 their heritage, Siegmund his father's sword, and Orestes his 
 father's kingdom. 
 
 In the beginning of the Walkure Wagner, for the first time 
 in the Ring, introduces characters that win our sympathy. 
 Wotan's failings and Alberich's vindictiveness are so obvious 
 that it is impossible ever to forget that their sufferings are 
 deserved. With Siegmund and Sieglinde it is different. Act- 
 ing from generous impulses, but constantly misunderstood, 
 innocently suffering for Wotan's sin, they gain our sympathy 
 at once. So in the first half of the Choephoroi all is calculated 
 to enlist our sjrmpathy for Orestes. An earUer introduc- 
 tion of the murder might have left the audience, as it would 
 
32 waqner's dramas and orebk tragedy 
 
 surely leave the modern reader, in the same frame of mind as 
 at the end of the Agamemnon — admitting the justice of the 
 deed, but repelled by the perpetrator. Aeschylus creates a 
 different attitude by emphasizing the suffering of Electra 
 and Orestes, deprived through a parent's sin of their rightful 
 heritage {Choe. 130-137, 249-254, 332-339, 407-409, 441 - 44 9). 
 The appeal to our sympathy in the Choephoroi, as in the WdUcUre, 
 is enhanced by introducing the pathetic figure of the sister, 
 seen first in a state of enforced subjection to those she cannot 
 love (Choe. 132-135). 
 
 When Briinnhilde, in the second act of the WaJkure, dis- 
 obeys Wotan and defends Siegmund, her action produces a 
 deflection of the drama's course much like that effected by the 
 murder of Cl3rtenmestra. Up to this point the motive power 
 behind every act, even Sieglinde's escape with Siegmund, 
 has been personal desire, but Briinnhilde's resolution grows 
 out of the purest imselfishness. The moral force here acting 
 through her — that of unselfish love — is to prevail in the 
 end of the drama, as the cause of Orestes is to be vindicated 
 in the Eumenides. In the Choephoroi, Orestes appears less 
 as a murderer than as the agent through whom Clytemnestra's 
 crime is punished. He conmiits the murder at Apollo's 
 command and under threat of penalties indescribably hor- 
 rible if he should fail to obey. He is the first of the many 
 murderers in the family of the Pelopidae whose motives are 
 not utterly base. Self-interest is not absent, it is true 
 (kcu wpos wie^a xfytjiMxtov axrivia, 301), but it leads Orestes 
 to seek not, like his forerunnners, the possessions of another, 
 but his own rightful heritage. His motive, like Briinnhilde's, 
 is far higher than that of the parent he opposes, and his vic- 
 tory, like hers, proves to be incomplete; and when her suffer- 
 ing begins, with her capture by Siegfried in the guise of 
 Gunther, her state of mind is not imlike that of Orestes when 
 he first sees the Erinyes {Choe. 1048-1050 and 1054). 
 
DRAMAS OF CBIME AND ATONEMEXT 33 
 
 It is noteworthy that Brimnhilde, Uke Wotan, acts on im- 
 pulse, and learns, only after much suffering, to understand 
 the full significance of her act and the feelings behind it, while 
 both Orestes and Clytenmestra make elaborate plans, and 
 commit the murders with eyes open to the extent of the crime. 
 They see themselves and their opponents in the clear light of 
 a Greek sun, while Wotan and BrQnnhilde, dashing through 
 the mist of the North, mistake foe for friend and friend for 
 foe until too late. Nothing could be farther from Brimn- 
 hilde's thoi^ts when she defends Siegmund than the fact 
 that she is thus preparing the way for the god's downfall. 
 The cause and excuse for her act is love. In the oracle of 
 Apollo, Aeschylus gives Orestes more obvious support. This 
 is part of the clearer outlining of issues throughout the Oresteia. 
 The real difference, however, Ues rather in the means used 
 to define the situation than in the situation itself. Aeschylus 
 shows that Orestes obeys, as Clytenmestra did not, a pure 
 and just power; and he represents it under one of the forms 
 that represented it in Greek religion — the oracle at Delphi. 
 Winner represents what Brunnhilde obeys, and what he con- 
 sidered the highest motive power in the world, not through 
 any intermediate sjnnbol, but simply by its effect on her char- 
 acter and action. She justifies her cause by referring to the 
 love for Siegmund taught her by Wotan, as Orestes refers 
 to Apollo's prophecy. Relying on it beforehand, she answers 
 Wotan's command that she cause Si^mund's death with the 
 same confidence that rings in the reply of Orestes to the fear 
 of the Chorus that someone might overhear and betray him 
 to Clytenmestra (269-270). Afterward she defends her act 
 by referring to it {Walkure, Act III, "Die im Kampfe Wotan," 
 etc.), as Orestes, after the crime, proclaims (1026-1033), c<i»5 S' 
 
34 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy 
 
 IV 
 
 The Eumenides and the Ring ! 
 
 The Gdtterddmmerung opens with the scene of the Norns, 
 who, hke the Pythian priestess in the beginning of the Eu- 
 menides, appear only once. The scene does not advance the 
 action, but rouses a vague dread, which grows later into a 
 definite fear. Without the Norn scene, which is unfortunately 
 often omitted in performances, the Gdtterddmmerung would 
 begin with sunrise on the mountain-top, with Briinnhilde's 
 ecstatic farewell to Siegfried. There is no hint, in this second 
 scene of the Gdtterddmmerung Prologue, of the tragic struggle 
 about to begin. It inspires confidence and looks forward to 
 victory, hke the first words of Apollo to Orestes {Eum. 64-66). 
 Had Aeschylus made this the beginning of the Eumenides^ 
 our first impressions would have been quite different, although 
 even here the strength of the enemy is tacitly recognized, 
 while Briinnhilde and Siegfried are unconscious of any enemy's 
 existence. Like the Erinyes, Hagen, the vindictive figure 
 that dominates Gdtterddmmerung has not yet been brought 
 on the stage, but his coming has been prophesied by Wotan in 
 Walkiire, Act II (" Jetzt versteh' ich den stummen Sinn — den 
 Freien erlang ich mir nie"). This passage, however, will not 
 bear comparison with the preparation for the appearance of 
 the Erinyes which comes at the end of the Choephoroi (1048- 
 1061) and is in itself a powerful dramatic moment. The 
 Norn scene, on the other hand, is in no way inferior to the 
 opening of the Eumenides. In the spinning of the rope of 
 fate we behold a ritual producing the impression of eternal 
 continuity. To an audience brought under the domination 
 of this impression the sudden breaking of the rope is a terrific 
 shock. Woven in with its threads, the curse of greed has 
 eaten through them — we cannot expect anything to escape 
 from such destructive power. 
 
DBAMAS OP CRIME AND ATONEMENT &Q 
 
 The individuality of the priestess, like that of the Noms, 
 has been lost in her office. Formal calm pervades the invo- 
 cation emphasizing the dignity of the oracle and the main- 
 tenance of law and order throughout its history (w. 5, 7, 12, 
 15, 17-18). This enhances the startling effect of her terror 
 at finding the holy spot profaned by loathsome creatures. 
 The mere sight of them asleep drives her cowering from her 
 netful place — how, then, can we expect Orestes to survive 
 the horror of their active pursuit? The effect that Aeschylus 
 produces by a few lines of description, 46-56, Ws^ner produces 
 by suggestion of the vaguest sort. Through the eyes of 'the 
 priestess, Aeschylus gives us our first glimpse of the hideous 
 band in the temple, while Wagner shrouds in mysterious 
 gloom the form of the evil that he makes us fear. We have 
 noted such differences before. 
 
 The last words of the priestess (60-64) indicate the shift- 
 ing of the scene from the plane of mortal to that of celestial 
 activity. In the Agamemnon the course of events was di- 
 rected by the will of Clytemnestra; in the Cfioephoroi the 
 characters are mortals, but the controlling power is the oracle 
 of Apollo. In the Eumenides, however, though it deals pri- 
 marily with the fate of Orestes, the active characters — Apollo, 
 Athene, and the Erinyes — are all superhuman. A similar 
 shifting — thou^ in the opposite direction — takes place in 
 the Ring. In the Rheingold no mortal appears; they enter 
 the drama with the opening of the Walkiire, where they begin 
 at once, though unconsciously, to thwart the gods. In the 
 Gdtterddmm^rung every leading character is at least half human, 
 and it is their action that decides the fate of the gods and the 
 world. It is to this change that the end of the Norn scene 
 points. 
 
 In the Eumenides, clouds, darkly threatening, seem to 
 gather as the priestess speaks (34r-63), but before the storm 
 breaks (130) the sun looks between them for a mcHuent 
 
36 waoner'b dramas and greek tragedy 
 
 (64-93), and in its brilliant strength we read the promise of 
 clearer days to come. Apollo, whom Orestes obeyed, stands 
 before us in his own temple, guarding and promising to guard 
 forever his faithful follower. The preceding scene had closed 
 with the intimation that it would be left to Apollo to cope 
 with the Erinyes, and his first words (64-67) show him ready 
 to undertake the responsibiUty and confident of success. He 
 does not underestimate the foe, but he sees the road to ulti- 
 mate victory (74-75 and 7&-84). 
 
 A similar effect is produced by the transition to the scene 
 between Siegfried and Briinnhilde. In the darkest hour of 
 night the Norns sink into the yawning earth, leaving behind 
 them the curse that neither the spear of the god nor the threads 
 of fate could withstand. We are waiting to see it move upon 
 its next victim, when Wagner flashes before our eyes the Ught 
 that is finally to dispel its gloom. The second scene of the 
 Prologue is a symphonic paean of love. . The rising sun shines 
 on the moimtain, as Briinnhilde bids farewell to the hero whom 
 she sends "to new deeds." These words, Uke Apollo's "I 
 will not abandon thee, " are significant. The only characters 
 in the Ring who achieve "deeds," in the highest sense of the 
 word, are Siegfried and Briinnhilde. The tremendous task 
 of combating the power of greed has been left to them by 
 Wotan {Sf. Ill, 1). The end of the Norns' weaving is only 
 a second indication that the fall of the gods — first signal- 
 ized by the breaking of Wotan's spear — is at hand. The 
 old order is at an end, and the Norns' last words characterize 
 it: "To the world the wise prophesy no more." Where Wotan 
 has talked, Briinnhilde acts. His prophecies are no longer 
 needed, but her "world-redeeming deed" is. When Brunnhilde 
 says "To new deeds," she is thinking of deeds to be per- 
 formed by Siegfried, but the words are sung to the Briinnhilde 
 motive. 
 
 After inspiring dread of the Erinyes by the priestess's mono- 
 
DRAMAS OP CBIME AND ATONEMENT 37 
 
 logue, and showing ns in Apollo the power that is to prove 
 stronger than they, Aeschylus wakens them before our eyes. 
 Wagner, following the same order in the Prologue, rouses 
 forebodings by the Norn-scene, then paints for us, in the 
 most luminous colors of his orchestral palette, the love that 
 is finally to prevail over the evil forces of the drama, and 
 after that, in Scene I of Act I, he brings before us the char- 
 acter in which our forebodings and the evil forces culminate 
 — Hagen. In Hagen the curse of greed, whose devastating 
 course we have watched in the earher parts of the drama, is 
 given bodily form. This curse has been represented pre- 
 viously only in the orchestra, by the Curse motive; in the 
 G^terddmmerung Wagner puts it on the stage as well. The 
 Erinyes are a similar personification of the force which Aes- 
 chylus has shown us at work in the Agamemnon and the 
 Choephoroi — the force which brings upon the murderer pun- 
 ishment horrible and inevitable. Hitherto our attention has 
 been called to this force chiefly by the words of the Chorus, 
 who present the idea to us (as the orchestra in the Ring pre- 
 sents the idea of the curse of greed) in various connections: 
 when they anticipate the death Agamenmon is to suffer as 
 penalty for the slaughter of Ipihigenia — either in vague 
 expressions (Ag. 154-155, 250-251), or more definitely, as 
 in 461-468, where the word Erinyes is noteworthy, and in 
 1335-1342 — and when they anticipate the similar penalty 
 to be paid by Clytemnestra {Choe. 66-70, 312-314, 40(M04, 
 649-651). That the Erinyes in the Eumenides are the em- 
 bodiment of this power is evident at once, and is confirmed 
 by such passages as Eumenides, 261-268, 316-320, 354-359. 
 Hagen, who is incapable of feeling anything but greed and 
 hatred, and the Erinyes, who drain the murderer's life-blood, 
 are by their nature forever set apart from associates. W^en 
 Siegfried asks Hagen why he does not join in the oath of blood- 
 brotherhood, he answers, "My blood would defile your drink! 
 
38 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy 
 
 It flows not pure and noble like yours, but cold and benumbed 
 it curdles in me; it will not bring red to my cheek," and in 
 Act II he says, "Old in my youth, sallow and pale, I hate the 
 happy, I never am glad." His strange pallor and ungainli- 
 ness make him appear less than human, but this is insig- 
 nificant compared with the "makeup" of the Erinyes, if it 
 approached, even remotely, the picture Aeschylus paints. 
 They are set apart from all other immortals, as Hagen 
 is from mortals (68-73): "Asleep they he, the loathsome 
 maidens, grey and aged, with whom no god associates, nor 
 man, nor beast; for evil, they came into being, and in evil 
 darkness they dwell, in Tartarus under the earth, things hateful 
 to men and to gods Olympian." Compare also 190-193, and 
 349-352: "At birth this lot was put upon us, from immortals 
 to keep our hands afar, and there is none that shares our 
 feasts as a friend." 
 
 What Alberich could not accomplish has become Hagen's 
 task — the recovery of the ring and the destruction of Wotan 
 and Siegfried — and the brief scene at the opening of the second 
 act, where Alberich tries to urge his son on, recalls at times 
 the speech with which Clytemnestra attempts to rouse the 
 sleeping Erinyes. The scene begins: 
 
 " {Hagen, with spear in hand and shield at his side, sits sleep- 
 ing by the castle entrance. The moon suddenly throws a 
 glaring light on him and his surroundings; Alberich is seen 
 in front of Hagen, leaning his arms on Hagen's knee.) 
 Alh. Sleepest thou, Hagen, my son? — Thou sleepest and 
 hearest me not, whom rest and sleep betrayed? 
 
 Hag. (speaks low, without moving, so that he seems to sleep on, 
 though his eyes are open and staring). I hear thee, wicked 
 dwarf: what hast thou to say to my sleep?" j 
 
 Clytemnestra's first Unes are (94-95): "Ye would sleep, aha! 
 — and what need is there of sleepers? So am I left by you 
 
DRABfAS OF CRIME AND ATONEMENT 39 
 
 in dishonor." A little further on she expresses the idea found 
 in Hagen's reply (Eum. 104), "In sleep the heart becomes 
 clear-sighted." In Alberich's appeal, and in Clytenmestra's, 
 two motives are developed — the speaker's claim to the 
 listener's aid and the strength and apparent freedom of their 
 enemies. Their only chance of success Ues in unremitting 
 endeavor. 
 
 While Alberich's part in this scene corresponds to that 
 played by Clytenmestra's oScoXov, it is Wotan who has been 
 her counterpart before. In character, however, he is fimda- 
 mentally different. For Wotan comes at last to realize his 
 sin, and to desire supremacy for what is best in the world, 
 rather than for himself. Moreover, even in the beginning, 
 when Wotan ordered the building of Walhall, his purpose 
 reached beyond personal gratification. By means of the 
 castle, Wotan aimed to make "eternal might" visible to a 
 world that should bow before it, and the "might" was to be 
 Wotan's own, it is true; but he also aimed to exalt "man's 
 honor," and the nobiUty of character for which the phrase 
 stood to him is expressed in the majestic chords of the Walhall 
 motive. Such a combination of good and evil as Wagner has 
 indicated in Wotan, Aeschylus indicates in the Erinyes. In 
 so far as the Erinyes judge from external circumstances alone, 
 and insist on inflicting the full penalty on one whose motives 
 were blameless, their defeat is deserved; but in their better 
 aspect, as Sot/moves who inspire the fear of wrongdoing^ they 
 are not to be disdained. In the splendid scene of reconcilia- 
 tion with which the Eumenides concludes, the Erinyes dis- 
 card their revolting attributes, and, as beneficent deities, are 
 led to their new shrine by the people of Attica. The Ring 
 also ends in a reconciliation, by which the survivors, and the 
 world they represent, are supposed to gain. The reconcilia- 
 tion is between Wotan's noblest aims and Briinnhilde's action, 
 and is indicated in the score by the harmonious alternation 
 
40 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy 
 
 of the motives of WaUiall and Redemption hy Love. In Sieg- 
 fried, Wotan casts off greed, and its evil power in Gdtter' 
 ddmmerung is concentrated in Hagen, who, like the evil aspect 
 of the Erinyes, pursues an innocent victim only to be over- 
 thrown in the end. In other words, Wagner has allotted 
 separately to Wotan and to Hagen such quaUties as are united 
 in the Erinyes, and has united in Wotan a will, strong and 
 supremely selfish, hke Clytemnestra's, and an innate desire 
 for the maintenance of right and justice, which corresponds 
 to the better aspect of the Erinyes. 
 
 The remarkable effect produced by the conclusion of the 
 Eumenides is partly due to the way in which Aeschylus ex- 
 tends the boundaries of his drama until .the audience is, in a 
 sense, included and made to feel that the final issue concerns 
 them directly. When Wagner read the Eumenides he must 
 have been impressed by this, and it may be that he was con- 
 sciously influenced by it in writing the conclusions of his 
 later works. The subjects do not, of course, permit of so 
 close a connection with any locaUty or people as in the Eit- 
 m,enideSj and even if they did, any emphasis of this aspect 
 would lessen their interest for the international pubUc to which 
 modem opera appeals. It is true, however, that the endings 
 of the Ring, Meister singer, and Parsifal, like that of the Evr- 
 menides, create in the hearer a feeling that what marks the 
 end of the drama also marks a possible beginning for himself. 
 When the final scene of the Gotterddmrnerung opens, Hagen's 
 success has brought us into that hopeless mood in which noth- 
 ing seems certain except destruction. With Siegfried dead 
 and Brunnhilde captured, it appears that even the noblest 
 natures are doomed to be crushed by the power of greed. 
 Voicing this feeling, the motive of the Fall of the Gods descends 
 in the orchestra as Brunnhilde enters. It is the phrase heard 
 in Rheingold, just after Erda sang, "All that is — ends!" 
 Now, as the first word comes from Brunnhilde's lips, the motive 
 
DRAMAS OF CRIME AND ATONEMENT 41 
 
 suddenly turns and rises — it becomes the motive of growth 
 (Nature motive), and it flows toward us with the same cahn 
 movement, the sfune suggestion of inexhaustible life that it 
 had when we heard it at the opening of Rheingold. It makes 
 us feel instinctively that something new and good will spring 
 again from the earth laid waste by the curse of greed, and as 
 we hear the motive with the first sound of BrUnnhilde's voice, 
 we look to her to tell us what this may be. It is to us that we 
 expect her to reveal it, because there is no one on the stage 
 who would desire or understand her message. Hagen would 
 not, and the inmates of the Gibichung castle, who watch 
 Brtinnhilde in silence, are ignorant of the tragic series of events 
 of which they are witnessing the conclusion. Their presence 
 on the stage, however, saves Brtinnhilde from appearing to 
 conunune with herself — which would be quite out of place 
 at this point — and as they are men and women listening to 
 Brtinnhilde, they are a kind of representation of the audience, 
 transferred to the scene and period of the drama, as the Chorus 
 of irporoftvot at the close of the Eumenides is a representation 
 of Athenian citizens such as those who were originally looking 
 on. It is impossible to hear Brtinnhilde, after referring to the 
 contradictions between the character and the experience of 
 Si^Med, ask the question: "Know ye how that came to be?'' 
 and not feel that we are addressed; just as the Attic audience 
 must have felt that they were referred to in the last line of 
 Athene's promise to the Erinyes (804-807): "I promise in 
 righteousness that ye shall have homes and secret sanctuaries 
 in a righteous land, seats on shining thrones by the altars, 
 and honor paid you by these townsfolk here." Brtinnhilde 
 recognizes the necessity for the suffering forced upon her: 
 "Betrayed I had to be by the purest of heroes, that a woman 
 be wise." So she acknowledges her submission to the law of 
 experience which is emphasized throughout the Oresteia, and 
 is expressed in Hie words which characterize Zeus as {Ag. 
 
42 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy 
 
 176-178) "him that put mortals on the road to wisdom, ordain- 
 ing that knowledge should come by suffering." What Briinn- 
 hilde has learned — the answer to the expectations roused by 
 the Nature motive at her entrance — is revealed by her action 
 and by the music. The motive of Redemption by Love appears 
 in the orchestra when Briinnhilde prepares to cast herself 
 upon the blazing funeral pyre of Siegfried, and it rises with 
 her excitement, each repetition beginning a semitone higher, 
 until she leaps on her horse and gallops into the flames. Un- 
 like the other motives equally important in the score, this one 
 has not been heard often. It has appeared only once before, 
 in the last act of the Walkiire, when Sieglinde pays homage 
 to Briinnhilde's generous love — and while this prevents it 
 from seeming extraneous to the drama, the fact that it has 
 not yet been worked out to its logical end (like, for instance, 
 the motives of the Sword and the Curse) gives it the effect 
 of a suggestion made to us personally. Greed, as a moving 
 principle in life, has failed; love waits for us to give it a trial. 
 We may perhaps find a similar suggestion in Eumenides, 990- 
 995, "From these dread beings I see great good coming to you 
 citizens here; if with grace in your hearts you tender these 
 gracious spirits high honor forever, yours will be the glory 
 of keeping both land and city wholly righteous in judgment." 
 All through the Oresteia we have seen that the murderer cannot 
 escape suffering for his crime {Ag. 462-466), and now, at the 
 end, it is impUed that if we, the audience, follow the opposite 
 course to that taken by Agamemnon and Clytemnestra, we 
 shall be blest as they were ruined. This beneficent aspect 
 of the Erinyes has been touched upon already in Eumenides, 
 312-315 and 537-551, but, Uke the Redemption motive, it 
 has not been developed in the drama. Its full significance is 
 to become apparent to the townspeople of Pallas (1045), 
 learning wisdom at last (1000), and is dramatically represented 
 by the thrilling change in the attitude of the Chorus from 
 
DRAMAS OF CBIME AND ATONEMENT 43 
 
 Eumenides, 810-817, to 916-917, 921-926. There is a con- 
 vincing power in the way Aeschylus presents this idea which 
 we are not. surprised to find absent from Wagner's enuncia- 
 tion of the Redemption motive. Knowing the Athens of the 
 fifth century, Aeschylus could make Athene say (853-854), 
 "The rising tide of time will ever bring more honor to this 
 people," and could confidently prophesy tvx<k ovrfaifuvs for 
 the city; while Wagner could only suggest as a lovely, but 
 remote ideal, the picture of a world deUvered from selfishness. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE CONCLUSION OF THE MEISTERSINGER AND THE 
 
 CONCLUSION OP THE EUMENIDES: TWO 
 
 REMARKABLE RECONCILIATIONS 
 
 The reconciliation with which the Meistersinger concludes 
 is even more Uke that of the Erinyes, though the issues in- 
 volved are as far apart as ancient Athens and mediaeval Nu- 
 remberg. The maintenance of justice in human a£Fairs and 
 the maintenance of the art of song as an important element in 
 human culture are aims widely different. Each, however, 
 may be accepted by individuals or societies that hold con- 
 tradictory views as to the means that should be used to attain 
 it. Both the Eumenides and the Meistersinger portray the 
 struggle between two such opposing parties, and end with 
 their reconciUation. The representatives of the older and 
 the yoimger generations come into conflict — the ypeSai 
 &u/ioves with the dtdl vewrepoi, and the mastersingers 
 with Walter and his champion, Sachs. In each case, the 
 former believe that their yielding would mean the loss to 
 the world of all they have striven to maintain, and the latter 
 look on their opponents with mingled scorn and fear, con- 
 fident that the freedom they themselves demand is right. 
 The ypoLuu Sai/iav€i and the mastersingers try to uphold 
 what is best, as they understand it, by compelling respect for 
 a generally accepted principle. In the one case, it is a prin- 
 ciple of right conduct, which the Erinyes defend by punishing 
 all who violate it; and in the other, a principle of song com- 
 position, which the masters defend by excluding from their 
 
 guild all who break its rules. Trouble results from their 
 
 44 
 
CONCLUSION OF THE MEISTERSIN6EB AND EUMENIDES 45 
 
 inability to provide for the exceptional case. They fail to 
 see that in certain extraordinary circumstances good laws 
 may be overridden and yet no harm done. Such transgres- 
 sions can be justified, but only, as a rule, by something not 
 entirely under human control. The justification of Orestes 
 comes from Apollo's oracle, and of Walter, from his own poetic 
 inspiration. It is always an easy thing to win sympathy for 
 an innocent and abused transgressor, and to arouse antipathy 
 for his wilfully blind persecutors, and in most cases this is all 
 that is attempted. But Wagner has followed Aeschylus in 
 compelling us not to forget the usual in our consideration of 
 the exceptional. Nothing is more natural — or more dan- 
 gerous — than for the average person to feel that he is 
 exceptional and entitled to receive such extraordinary consid- 
 eration as he has seen accorded to some other case. It is 
 this danger that is alluded to in Eumenides, 494-495, "This 
 act will henceforth make all men ready to be reckless;" and 
 in Meistersinger, Act I, "Sachs opens a way for bunglers, 
 so that they may easily push in and out as they choose." 
 It is averted in the conclusion of each. While justice de- 
 mands freedom for Orestes and honor for Walter's talent, it 
 also insists on recognition of the benefits still to be gained 
 by respecting the laws that they broke. If Wagner had made 
 the Meistersinger end with the crowning of Walter, as he might 
 easily have done, and if Aeschylus had concluded the Eu- 
 menides with a few anapaests appended to v. 777, we should 
 come away from both with a view decidedly limited com- 
 pared with that which is given us in the truly magnificent 
 endings as they now stand. The plot of the Meistersinger 
 really ends with Walter's crowning, but by extending the 
 finale Wagner has made the drama conclude not merely with 
 the artistic victory of a Franconian knight over sope Nurem- 
 berg burghers, but with a glorifying of song as the expression 
 of what is best in the life and character of a people, and in a 
 
 V- 
 
46 Wagner's dramas and qreek tragedy 
 
 declaration of the essential union of all who serve it, whether 
 by their creative genius, like Walter, or by their conservative 
 efforts, like the masters. 
 
 It is no small achievement to succeed, in the very end of a 
 drama, in changing the Ustener's attitude from antagonism 
 to admiration, without introducing something to prove the 
 former attitude founded upon a misconception. Wagner, 
 following Aeschylus, brings this about by enlarging our view 
 of the subject as a whole. 
 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 AJAX AND AMFORTAS: THE FALLEN HEROES 
 
 In Wagner^s Parsifal and the Ajax of Sophocles we see 
 the effect on a noble character of the consciousness that he 
 has shown himself lacking in the one quaUty in which he had 
 been acknowledged supreme. Ajax, preeminent among the 
 Greek chieftains for physical strength, at the very moment 
 when he expected to prove it overwhelming has been diverted 
 from his goal by madness, and disgraced himself by slaughter- 
 ing flocks instead of the kings against whom he set out. In 
 Parsifal Amfortas suffers a Uke himiiUation. Ejng of the 
 knights who serve the Holy Grail, he had beUeved his moral 
 strength invincible, and, relying on that, had gone forth to 
 conquer Klingsor. But instead, he himself became the victim 
 of a mad infatuation, so incurring di^race whose stain cannot 
 be removed, and whose outward sign is the wound that never 
 heals. Neither hero is seen imtil after the act, and both have 
 fallen through reljdng too exclusively on their own efforts. 
 Amfortas was aJlziiJcuhn, and Ajax was oi mr av$p<i»rov <ftpov5ty 
 (777). ' ^ 
 
 In Wagner's adaptation of the legend, the Grail is the symbol 
 of the love that yearns to dehver humanity from the burden 
 of sorrow and pain. The Grail was intrusted by heavenly 
 messengers to Titurel, who built a temple for it in the moun- 
 tains, where he was joined by all who were ready to devote 
 their Uves to service. In his old age Titurel surrendered the 
 throne to his son, Amfortas. Meanwhile, Klingsor, unable 
 to conquer sin in himself and thereby win admittance to the 
 
 sanctuary, resolved to drag back to his own level all who had 
 
 - ■ - 47 
 
48 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy i 
 
 risen higher. He transformed the wilderness at the foot of 
 the Grail mountain into a garden, and filled it with beings 
 of alluring loveliness, at once flowers and maidens. Enticed 
 by them, and by the captive Kundry, more than one of the 
 Grail knights has been enslaved. Amfortas, eager to put an 
 end to this, set forth, before the opening of the drama, for 
 Klingsor's castle, carrying the sacred lance to dispel the magic. 
 Then Kundry met him, and, dazed by her beauty, Amfortas 
 forgot his mission, the lance slipped from his hand. Klingsor 
 snatched it up, drove it into the side of its faithless guardian, 
 and bore it away. Amfortas returned to the temple, to see 
 daily the empty place where the lance was wont to he beside 
 the Grail and to reahze that he, king of the knights, was the 
 only guilty one among them. 
 
 Before we reach the tenth line of Parsifal, we learn that the 
 king is ailing. Gurnemanz says, ''It is time to await 
 the king. I see the messengers approaching, who precede the 
 Utter on which his tortured frame is carried." Equally early 
 in the Ajax we read (9-10) : "Within his tent the hero is now, 
 as it happens, with head dripping with sweat, and hands 
 that have slain with the sword." 
 
 After we have heard that Amfortas suffers constantly, he 
 is brou^t before us. He remains, for a brief scene, resting 
 on a litter, and is carried away, not to appear again until 
 Gurnemanz has given a complete account of the adventure 
 in which the wound was received. The general plan of con- 
 struction is the same as that adopted by Sophocles; for when 
 Ajax's frenzy has been described by Athene, he enters bearing 
 the fiMTTii, a visible evidence of his madness, as the litter 
 is of the weakness of Amfortas. After a short scene (91-117), 
 he withdraws, reappearing when the course of his madness 
 has been fully detailed in the scene between Tecmessa and 
 the Chorus (201-332). She is questioned as one whose 
 relation to Ajax would make her a reliable informant (208-213), 
 
AJAX AND AMFORTAS: THE FALLEN HEROES 4§ 
 
 and similarly Gumemanz is led by the Grail squires to tell 
 how their king came to be wounded. like Tecmessa, though 
 earlier in the drama, Gumemanz laments the contrast between 
 the former state of Amfortas and his present wretchedness. 
 It is just before Amfortas's entrance that he says: "He draws 
 near; they are bearing him. — Alas! How can my heart 
 endure the sight of him, in the proud height of his manhood, 
 the leader of the most victorious host, now become the slave 
 of sickness?" words akin in sentiment to (203 ff.) : "We have 
 cause for our groans, we who grieve for the house of Telamon 
 far away. For now Ajax, the dread, the mighty, the savage, 
 in a turbid storm of madness Ues sick." 
 
 Like Ajax, Amfortas longs for death. To him it is the 
 "only blessing," as the o-icoros of the nether <«vorld is ^oos to 
 Ajax (394). There is an equal intensity of emotion (though 
 no verbal resemblance) in the lines that follow (Act III, Sc. 
 II): "Let the terrible wound, let its poison die! Let the heart 
 that it gnaws grow rigid," and (395 ff.): "O darkness of 
 death, full of Ught as thou art to me, take me, take me to 
 dwell in thee, O take me!" 
 
 In each case the contrast between the son's ruin and the 
 father's success is indicated. Amfortas laments (Act III): 
 "Ay, woe! woe! woe is me! I raise this cry gladly with you. 
 More gladly still would I receive death from yom* hands, 
 for my sin the mildest aton^nent. {Turning to the dead Titurel) 
 My father, highly blest of heroes, the purest, to whom once 
 angels descended!" And Ajax cries out (430-436): "Aim! 
 (woe!) who would ever have thought that my name, Aias, and 
 my woes would thus accord? Now it is fitting that even twice 
 I should wail aiai, and thrice, to such misfortune have I come, 
 whose father from this same land of Ida, gaining th6 foremost 
 prizes by valor, went home with all the glory of high fame." 
 The faUure of both sons has resulted from overconfidence in 
 their own strength. Ajax beUeved he could do without the 
 
50 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy 
 
 help of the gods (768-775), and Amfortas set forth against 
 KUngsor without receiving the Grail's permission. Both lack 
 the perfect balance of <r(ixf>poavvi}. Amfortas also falls short 
 of the Wagnerian standard in self-sacrificing love. For 
 when he met Kundry in Klingsor's garden, he forgot the knights 
 for whose sake he had come. This fact is dramatically em- 
 phasized by the contrasting character and experience of Parsifal. 
 He strays into Klingsor's garden without any purpose what- 
 ever. He meets the same temptation, but resists it, forget- 
 ting himself that he may accompUsh the deliverance of 
 Amfortas. In the Ajax, Sophocles also introduces a character 
 distinguished by the quality in which Ajax is deficient — Odys- 
 seus, Tov fv <^povovvTa (1252). In the end, however, it is 
 only the deeds and the courage of Ajax that are considered. 
 His madness and his hatred are passed over, when Odysseus 
 defends his right to burial (1332 ff.). His heroism is fimda- 
 mental, the cause of his ruin relatively superficial. Teucer 
 calls him t^ irdvr dya^cjj, "entirely noble" (1415). So, 
 also, the sin of Amfortas is forgiven, as the drama concludes. 
 His intense and prolonged repentance has proved his purity 
 fundamental, and his woimd is healed by the touch of the 
 sacred lance, brought back to the Grail by Parsifal, who pro- 
 nounces its former king entsiindigt und gesiihnt. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 ISOLDE AND PHAEDRA: RELUCTANT CONFESSIONa OF LOVE 
 
 The scene between Isolde and her handmaiden in the be- 
 ginning of Tristan and Isolde is a close parallel to the scene 
 between Phaedra and the Nurse. At the first glance, how- 
 ever, there appears to be Uttle relation between Isolde, whose 
 love is beautiful, in Wagner's version, and Phaedra, whose 
 passion is recognized, even by herself, as sinful. But if we 
 look for the parallel, not between love and Ipws, but between 
 love and <r<a<l>p<nrvyri (the ideals upheld respectively in the 
 Ring and the Oresteia), we find that the Hippolytus, as a whole, 
 defends vta^potrmni, though in a negative manner, by showing 
 the tragedy that results from disregarding it. ^^^pts, causing 
 the death of Hippolytus, proves itself wrong. Similarly, 
 imquestioning obedience to convention, causing the death 
 of Tristan and Isolde, is represented as mistaken. Were it 
 not for convention, Tristan and Isolde would have told King 
 Mark of their love, and the conclusion of the drama shows 
 how gladly he would have made them happy. 
 
 For convenience in tracing the course of the scene between 
 Isolde and Brangane, as it runs parallel to that between Phaedra 
 and the Nurse, we may divide both into six corresponding 
 sections. - 
 
 I. The distraught and weak condition of the heroine is 
 made known. 
 
 When the curtain rises, Isolde is "on a couch, with her face 
 hidden in the pillows." She Ues motionless for several minutes. 
 
 That Phaedra is first shown in a like position is indicated by 
 the Nurse's words (179-180), "Out of doors now is your bed," 
 
 51 
 
52 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy 
 
 and Phaedra's first line, 198, "Raise my body, lift my head." 
 We were prepared for this by the preceding chorus (130-134). 
 That Isolde's quiet is the repression of emotion so violent 
 as to have made her partly unconscious of her surroundings 
 we see when, roused at last by a sailor's song, she asks Brangane 
 where they are. The handmaiden answers, "With a quiet sea, 
 before evening we shall surely reach land." And Isolde asks, 
 "What land?" though she knows as well as Brangane that 
 they are sailing to Cornwall. It matters Uttle whether she 
 asks because she is momentarily dazed, or because her anger 
 at the thought of arrival makes her lead Brangane to pron- 
 ounce the hated name of Cornwall (so Phaedra leads the 
 Nurse to pronounce the name of Hippolytus, v. 352), in order 
 that she may contradict, "Never! not today, nor tomorrow!" 
 In either case, she is out of tune with her environment, as 
 Phaedra is shown to be by the Nurse's complaint (183-185). 
 
 II. Seizure by a mad desire, incomprehensible to the 
 attendant, but plain to an audience familiar with the legend. 
 
 Isolde invokes wind and storm to destroy the ship. The 
 wildness of her outburst, as of Phaedra's, is intensified by con- 
 trast with her preceding lassitude. Isolde's frantic desire 
 to destroy her love and its object runs parallel to Phaedra's 
 longing to defy a-wftpoervvri and hunt in the forest with 
 Hippolytus. 
 
 III. Reaction. 
 
 Isolde collapses and falls on the couch, again hiding her 
 face, her feeling doubtless Uke that of Phaedra, when the 
 latter says (239 and 243-244), "Wretched that I am, what 
 have I done? Nurse, cover my head again, for I am ashamed 
 of the words I have spoken." 
 
 IV. The attendant expresses sympathy and begs for an 
 explanation. 
 
 In Brangane's plea, the recent behavior of her mistress is 
 described. She says in part: "Isolde! Mistress! Dear heart. 
 
ISOLDE AND PHAEDRA: RELUCTANT CONFESSIONS OF LOVE 53 
 
 what hast thou hid from me so long? Not one tear did'st 
 thou shed for father and mother; hardly a parting word did^st 
 thou have for them who remained; from home departing cold 
 and mute, pale and silent on the voyage, without food, without 
 sleep, wildly distraught, staring and wretched." The cor- 
 responding passage in the Hippolytus, while telling us nothing 
 new, emphasizes by repetition the earUer description of 
 Phaedra's state. With the above we may compare 273ff. : 
 
 Nurse: About all this she is silent. 
 Chorus: How weak she is, and how wasted her form. 
 Nurse: Could it be otherwise, when for three days she has 
 had no food?" 
 
 V. Revelation of the object of her love. 
 
 Isolde demands air, and Brangane pulls aside the hangings 
 that screen their part of the deck, so that the rest becomes 
 visible. Among the soldiers the figure of Tristan is con- 
 spicuous. 
 
 The Nurse, to be sure, only names Hippolytus; but as he, 
 unlike Tristan, has already appeared, the mere mention of 
 his name would call up in the spectator's mind a picture almost 
 as vivid as the actual one presented by Wagner. 
 
 VI. The mistress reveals her feelings, at first in words too 
 vague for the attendant to understand. 
 
 Isolde reviews the events that have brought her to her present 
 state of despair. The purpose this narrative serves is similar 
 to that of Phaedra's long speech (372-430). Like it, also, this 
 b^ins calmly, following an excited passage that included a 
 short chorus. Isolde commences, "Thou hast beheld my 
 shame, now learn what brought it on me," an introductory 
 remark resembling (390), "I will tell thee the course of my 
 thought." Brangane, however, remains in the dark as to Isolde's 
 purpose, while the Nurse has already come to understand her 
 mistress. In Isolde's anger Brangane sees only failure to appre- 
 
54 Wagner's dramas and oreek tragedy | 
 
 ciate the dignity to become hers with the Cornish crown, 
 and when Isolde murmurs, " Unloved, seeing the noblest man 
 ever near me, — how could I bear that torture?" the hand- 
 maiden beUeves her mistress is thinking of Mark. Her 
 reply reminds us of the lines of the Nurse, following the 
 mention of Hippolytus and preceding Phaedra's acknowl- 
 edgement (313 ff.) And, indeed, two verses in this passage 
 might almost be transferred from Phaedra's lips to Isolde's 
 (319 and 331) : "A friend has made me suffer, against my will, 
 against his. . . . From shame let me contrive an honorable 
 escape." When Brangane realizes that Isolde is resolved on 
 death, she feels, Uke the Nurse, that she must save her mistress 
 at any cost. Her act, also, makes greater trouble, wrong is 
 done to an innocent man (to Mark as to Hippol3rtus), and 
 death follows after all. Brangane reaUzes her mistake im- 
 mediately, and as the Chorus criticizes the Nurse (596): "With 
 kind intent, but not with honor, thou hast found a remedy," 
 so she blames herself, saying at the close of Act I: "Unavoid- 
 able, lasting danger, instead of sudden death! Foolish fidel- 
 ity's work, fraught with deceit, now comes to flower in woe!" 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 Wagner's music and the parodos op the 
 
 SEVEN against THEBES 
 
 In Wa^CT's Ge«ammettejSc^»^^ "The 
 
 gg^S^yil y emotiona l interpretation of the drama, given in 
 Grreek tragedy by the Chorus, is auppEed an d deveJope d^by 
 
 rjio m/vf < am nrf»hftatrfl^ igA^ frr^m ^ 11 limif.pf.^QTlff^ JOthJn&oite 
 
 variety of expression; the persons who compose the Chorus 
 are accordingly removed frop the orchestra to the stage, in 
 order to bring the germ of individuaUty which was in the 
 Greek Chorus to its highest independent growth as an acting 
 and suffering character in the drama," and in IX, p. 309: "If 
 ancient tragedy was obUged to curtail its dialogue because 
 it had to be inserted between choral odes and kept separate 
 from them, in the modem orchestra this interpreting element 
 of music, still continuing to give the drama a higher signifi- 
 cance, always accompanies the action." 
 
 It^is ffrident^ then, that Wagner felt that the orchestra in 
 his jh^mas had assumed and extended the interpretative 
 functions of the Greek Chorus, and a comparison of parts 
 of his scores with certain passages in the choral odes tends 
 to justify his beUef. The difficulties and incongruities in 
 such a comparison are obvious. The aspect of a situation, 
 or the phase of an emotion, that music can best make us reaUze, 
 is, on that account, beyond the reach of words, and the aspect 
 or phase that words can put before us most clearly cannot 
 possibly be defined in music. In Wagner's scores, however, 
 music comes very near to being poetry, as the words of the 
 Greek lyrics come very near to being music. Of course, 
 
 55 
 

 56 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedt 
 
 Wagner's orchestra plays a more important part than any 
 Chorus, even those of Aeschylus. It speaks continuously; 
 not merely during the interludes and in pauses between speeches, 
 but all through the speeches as well. Allowing, however, 
 for the essential differences between Greek expression in words, 
 colored by music (of which we are unfortunately ignorant), 
 and Wagnerian expression in music rooted in words, we find 
 many instances in which Wagner's orchestra produces effects 
 such as the Chorus produced in Greek tragedy. 
 
 It would be possible for a Greek student with no musical 
 knowledge to gain an accurate idea of what Wagner's orches- 
 tra adds to his text, by considering what the Parodos of the 
 Seven against Thebes adds to the dialogue it follows. This 
 Parodos is a lyric development of two motifs — the attack 
 on Thebes and the prayer for deliverance. Though of the 
 utmost importance in the drama, the attack cannot be repre- 
 sented. Its progress can only be described and its violence 
 suggested. It is pictured by the Messenger (59-64): "At 
 hand now, in full armor, the Argive host comes in clouds of 
 dust, and white foam splashes from the horses' mouths on 
 the plain. Do thou, as a ship's worthy helmsman, secure 
 the city before it is swept by the blasts of Ares. For it roars, 
 that billowy host, over the dry land." The first lines of the 
 Chorus impress the picture more clearly on our mental vision 
 by going over its outlines. They do not draw a new picture, 
 or even make important additions to the one already drawn, 
 but they emphasize the ideas previously suggested by repeat- 
 ing them in different words and freer rhjrthm (79-85): "It 
 is let loose, the host. Forth from the camp it flows, this great 
 crowd that runs before the horsemen. High in air, the dust 
 tells me this, voiceless, yet distinct, a truthful messenger. 
 And still through my ears tears the sound of my coimtry's 
 plains beaten by horses' hoofs. It flies, it roars, like undammed 
 torrents dashing down the mountains." i 
 
MUSIC AND THE PAR0D08 57 
 
 The Messenger's announcement is followed immediately 
 by the prayer of Eteocles (69-77). It voices the emotion 
 roused in king and people of Thebes by the news. This emo- 
 tion provides the second motif of the choral ode, which is devel- 
 oped at greater length than the motif of the attack. It first 
 appears in 86-87, but does not at once force the other m4)tif 
 into the background, for the latter reappears in 88-^. This 
 is the beginning of a passage (86-107) in which the first motif, 
 developed in a description of sights and sounds incident to 
 the attack, alternates with the second mxAif, developed in cries 
 for deliverance from the dangers so heralded. This alterna- 
 tion emphasizes the relation of cause and effect which exists 
 between the two motifs and creates an impression of con- 
 fusion appropriate to the situation. The questions also con- 
 tribute toward this. With the appeal to the gods that guard 
 the city in v. 109, the confusion subsides a little, and the most 
 explicit description of the attack in the ode follows (120-126) : 
 "The Argives are about the city of Cadmus in a circle. There 
 is the terror of war's arms. Boimd fast in the horses' mouths 
 the bits ring death. Seven bold heroes, chieftains of the 
 host, brandishing spears, fully equipt, at the seven gates 
 are standing, each where his lot assigned." The last three 
 lines are not, like the rest of the description in the ode, an 
 expansion of the ideas in 59-64, but of 55-56, "I left them 
 drawing lots, that, as thus assigned, each to one gate would 
 lead his band." This is followed by a passage of imin- 
 terrupted supplication (127-150), then by a strophe and an- 
 tistrophe in which greater terror is again indicated by an 
 alternate use of the two m>otifs. The ode concludes with 
 a prayer (166-180), in which the references to the native 
 dialect (16^170), "The city toiling with the spear, betray 
 not to an army speaking another tongue," and to the sacri- 
 fices to the gods (177-180), "Have a care for the offerings 
 made by the people, and caring, defend them. Of glad 
 
58 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy \ 
 
 sacrifices made in the city's mysteries be mindful, I implore," 
 recall parts of the prayer of Eteocles (71-73 and 76-77) : "Tear 
 not my city up by the roots and give it not to utter destruction, 
 captured by the spears of the foe, the city that pours out the 
 speech of Hellas . . . but be our strength; of benefit to both, 
 I beUeve, are my words, for a city that thrives honors the 
 gods." i 
 
 The ode, then, gives us no information. When it is ended 
 we^know no more about the state of affairs, but we reaUze far 
 more keenly what such a state means, — the confusion it 
 involves, the terror it awakens, the disasters it portends. It 
 is just this kind of intense realization of the dramatic situation 
 that Wagner produces by his use of the orchestra. Sometimes 
 he creates it by suggesting actual sights and sounds, such as 
 Aeschylus suggests in the lines describing the enemy's ap- 
 proach. The tapping of the Nibelungs' hammers, the thud 
 of the giants' footsteps, the gallop of the Valkyrs' horses, 
 and the flicker of the flames around Briinnhilde's rock, are 
 a few such instances. More frequently, however, Wagner 
 uses the orchestra to express emotion, as Aeschylus uses 
 the Chorus in the supplicatory passages of the ode. How 
 plaintively and how urgently it can entreat we learn when 
 Briinnhilde pleads with the god who has just decreed her 
 banishment from the life of Valkyrs to such disgrace as the 
 world may inflict on her helplessness {Walkiire, Act III). 
 
 Although sights and sounds represented orchestrally are 
 generally put before us on the stage at the same time, there 
 are some passages in Wagner's scores that describe, as parts 
 of this Parodos do, something off the stage. In the first act 
 of Parsifal, words define the incidents of Kundry's arrival, 
 much as the Messenger's speech defines the incidents of the 
 army's advance in the Seven against Thebes, but it is the or- 
 chestra that makes us reaUze the terrifying speed with which 
 horse and rider sweep forward, now skimming through the 
 
//^. ■:;V 
 
 f 
 
 \ 
 
 ' J 
 
 MUSIC AND I^E PABODOS 59 , //y 
 
 - ■ - - f ■ 
 
 air, now galloping madly over the earth, until the music rises 
 to an overwhelming climax, and Kundry runs in. 
 
 On almost every page in Wagner's scores the orchestra 
 gives expression to emotions that the words barely suggest. 
 As an illustration, however, of the way Wagner adds orches- 
 tral music to words and vocal melody to produce an effect 
 similar to that achieved in the Seven against Thebes by supple- 
 menting the prayer of Eteocles with those of the Chorus, a 
 passage in the first act of Tristan and Isolde will perhaps serve 
 as well as any. Brangane, looking at the blue strip of land 
 on the horizon, has just said that by evening they will be 
 sailing into the harbor of Cornwall, when Isolde cries out, 
 "Never!" Excited as the following words are, their despera- 
 tion is magnified many times in the whirlwind of tone sweeping 
 through the orchestra. While Aeschylus expands the idea of 
 suppUcation on a single plane, as it were, by reiterated ap- 
 peals to the gods already mentioned by Eteocles, and by invo* 
 cations to others, Wagner expands his presentation of Isolde's 
 despair on different planes at once by making the vocal melody 
 move over a tempestuous surge of tone. Isolde's emotion, 
 like that of the maidens <5f the Chorus, is caused by the knowl- 
 edge that what she dreads is approaching. Cornwall stands 
 to Isolde for all that is most hateful — she fears it as she would 
 fear a monster eager to spring upon her when the ship brings 
 her to its lair. Something Uke this is suggested by the vio- 
 lence with which the Cornwall motive leaps out of the or- 
 chestra. It keeps before us the object and cause of the dread 
 that prompts Isolde's outcry, just as in the Parodos a word 
 here and there in the invocations suggests the attack and its _ 
 
 possible consequences, which are the object of the maidens' 
 fear and the cause of their prayers. Such phrases are opofuvov 
 
 KoKov (87), SovXtxrvvai vvep (111), Satwv oXoxriv (119), iroXtv 
 hoparwov fi-q irpo85>ff krtptHlnavi^ arparw (169—170). 
 
 The alternate repetition of two musical phrases occurs 
 
60 WAONER's dramas and GREEK TRAGEDY i 
 
 frequently in Wagner, and one instance in which the rela- 
 tion between them is that of cause and effect, as in the case 
 of the two motifs in w. 86-107, occurs at the b^inning of the 
 Wdlkure. When Sieglinde finds the exhausted Siegmund and 
 brings him water, the motive of Siegmund* a Weariness is several 
 times repeated, with the motive of Sieglinde's Sympathy fol- 
 lowing each repetition. ' 
 
A.-: 
 \ 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 WAONER's use of the OflCHESTBA AS A MEDIVM FOR 
 POETIC EXPRESSION 
 
 I. Orchestral Descriptions 
 
 (a) Long Passages ' 
 
 It would be possible, I believe, to classify every part of 
 Wagner's scores under one or the other of the two headings 
 represented by the two motifs in the Parodos of the Septem. 
 The passages describing anjrthing that could be directly ap- 
 prehended by the senses are, of course, few compared with 
 those expressing emotion, but they are characteristic and 
 successful. Conspicuous are the orchestral representations 
 of storms in the Flying Dutchman, Rheingold, and WdUcure. 
 As a shrieking wind follows the tones of the chromatic scale, 
 it is one of the very few natural sounds that can actually be 
 reproduced in music. Add to this the rumble of thunder, 
 which can be imitated on the drum, and one easily makes 
 in the orchestra the two most characteristic sounds that ac- 
 company a storm. In the Flying Dvidiman the orchestra 
 su^ests the mi^ty swell of the ocean, the sudden breaking 
 of waves against the ship, the wind moaning over the waters 
 and whistUng through the rigging. This storm-music is 
 heard first in the Overture, where it accompanies the Dutch- 
 man motive and alternates with passages that express emo- 
 tion, as the two motifs alternate in the Parodos of the Septem. 
 Pictures of breaking waves are found also in at least two choral 
 odes: in the Septem (758-761), and in the Antigone (586-589). 
 
 Tlie 'features of the tempest represented orchestrally in the 
 
 61 ■;. ■ -^ - V - 
 
62 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy j 
 
 Flying Dutchman are those which are mentioned in Aeschylus's 
 Supplices, 33-36: "The hurricane with its stonny buffeting, 
 thunder and lightning, and the rain-bearing winds of the 
 furious ocean." I 
 
 The thunder-shower in Rheingold is painted in magnificent 
 orchestral colors, but as a similar picture is not found in any 
 Greek chorus, we may turn to the mountain thunder-storm 
 in the Vorspiel to the Walkiire. The main motive in this 
 prelude suggests the pelting of heavy raindrops, driven against 
 the walls of a house by fierce gusts of wind. This phrase, 
 consisting of five staccato tones, preceded by a short, quick 
 run, produces almost the same mental impression as the words 
 8txroft/8pa ptXr} in the famous chorus of the Antigone (359 ff.) 
 on man's achievements. The storm at the end of the second 
 act of the Walkiire is different. No rainfall is indicated, only 
 the Ughtning, piercing clouds gathered in the mountain-pass, 
 and the thunder that shakes rocks. It is not a natural shower, 
 but something portentous. The god rides on the storm-clouds, 
 and to men who fight in their midst he brings death. In 
 character and significance the storm resembles that described 
 in the Oedipus atColonus (1462-1471): "Lo! the mighty crash 
 of falling ruins, monstrous this thunder hurled by Zeus. Fright 
 has crept even to the ends of my hair. My heart cowers in 
 terror, from heaven the Ughtning blazes again. What will 
 be the end? This is my fear, for never does the sun depart 
 without disaster, — O mighty heaven, O Zeus!" In the 
 Waldweben in Siegfried the orchestra suggests the rustle of 
 leaves, just stirred by the breeze, and the hum of insects, — a 
 gentle murmur in which all the sounds of the forest seem 
 blended. Like the Oedipus at Colonus, 668^-693, it paints 
 in the woodland background and throws over the scene an 
 atmosphere of idyllic beauty. This music does not grow out 
 of the words, but rather beside them. It begins when Sieg- 
 fried throws himself on the groimd under the Unden, and is 
 
TBS ORCHESTRA AS A MEDIUM FOR POETIC EXPRESSION 63 
 
 heard almost constantly throughout the scene preceding the 
 dragon's entrance. And yet in words the forest is referred to 
 only twice, and then simply in passing: "Now as never be- 
 fore the green woods deUght me. . . . Thou lovely birdling! 
 Never before have I heard thee. Is thy home here in the 
 grove?" The orchestral passage preceding the latter quota- 
 tion is the musical coimterpart of Oedipus at CoUmus (670- 
 678), "Colonus, where the clear, low call of the nightingale 
 sounds constantly in green glens, Colonus with its dark- 
 ling ivy and the god's untrodden, holy grove, bearing count- 
 less fruits, untouched by sun and wind and storm of every 
 kind, where revelling Dionysus doth ever tread his haunt, 
 dancing about the goddesses who reared him." The first 
 strophe and antistrophe of this chorus describe the place that 
 is the background of the preceding Epeisodion, and in this 
 way are related to it as the Waldweben music to the words it 
 accompanies. And as the forest is simply mentioned, and not 
 described in words, so Colonus and its grove are referred to in 
 the Epeisodion only by such expressions as "here" and "this 
 land." 
 
 Near the beginning of the last act of Tristan is a passage 
 that pictures the sea, stretching from the cliff to the horizon, 
 gray and desolate, its cold expanse imbroken by the outline 
 of a sail. The musical phrase, taken out of its context, could 
 surest nothing more than extent and desolation, but as it 
 stands, its association with the sea is inevitable. In the 
 Vorspiel to Act III it is employed in conjunction with two 
 other phrases to create an impression of loneliness and suf- 
 fering, such as is produced by Philodetes, 681-705. Tristan, 
 like Philoctetes, is on a lonely coast, parted from his desire 
 by the sea. Its impression on the eye is suggested by the 
 phrase in Vorspiel III, measures 7-10, as its impression on 
 the ear is suggested by Philoctetes, 688-689, "alone with the 
 sound of breakers dashing round about." Tristan's anguish, 
 
64 waoner's dramas and qreek tragedy ! 
 
 physical as well as mental, is expressed in the opening phrase 
 of the Vorspiel and in measures 30 ff., the musical equivalent 
 of the "groan at gnawing pain" (694) and "heart-devouring 
 woe" (705); while measures 11-15, which follow directly the 
 phrase that pictures the sea, are equivalent in effect to 690, 
 "how has he endured this all-tearful life?" The wistful 
 pathos of the shepherd's piping, beginning in measure 52, 
 is not unUke that of 703, "like a child away from its dear 
 nurse." 
 
 (b) Short Phrases 
 
 While long descriptions are not frequent in Wagner's scores, 
 short phrases used to suggest some act, to sketch some motion, 
 as though with a single line, are countless. Sometimes, when 
 the act is the manifestation of an inner state, or is closely asso- 
 ciated with some person or place, the phrase is repeated and 
 becomes a leading-motive. Such is the case with the phrase 
 that su^ests the weariness of Tannhauser (Act III) as he 
 plants his staff on the ground, and leaning on it, drags his heavy 
 feet forward. It may remind one of Agamemnon, 79-82. 
 The action and feeling are similar, though the causes are 
 different. The Beating motive in the Meistersinger repre- 
 sents the hail of blows that fell on Beckmesser when his own 
 lute was laid ui)on his shoulders by the angry David. A word- 
 picture of blows is found in Choiphoroi, 425-427. Here, 
 again, the dramatic situations are totally different, but the 
 verbal phrase, like the musical one, helps to focus the atten- 
 tion on the rapid blows it accompanies. The rhythm of both 
 is accelerated by a number of short beats in succession. A 
 parallel to the Flames motive, used so often in the Ring to 
 picture the tongues of fire that dart up on all sides of BrUnn- 
 hilde's mountain, is found in Agamemnon, 92-93, "here and 
 there, reaching to heaven, flames arise." The motive asso- 
 ciated with Hagen in the G6tterddmm,erung is distinctly objec- 
 
THE OBCHESTBA AS A MEDIUM FOR POETIC EXPRESSION 65 
 
 tive in its imagery. It suggests the leap of some malignant 
 creature on its prey. A similar picture is outlined in Oedipus 
 Tyrannua, 1300-1302, "What evil spirit made a leap longer 
 than the longest to bring thy evil doom?" 
 
 The musical references to the drt^on in Siegfried describe 
 nothing more than the motion of a clumsy beast, and are 
 therefore comic, even though the monster is so formidable 
 that its slaughter is enough to prove Siegfried the greatest of 
 heroes. Descriptive music can imitate sound or represent 
 motion, but it cannot picture cleariy either color or form. 
 It can represent, in a way, light or darkness, and a phrase 
 may su^^t by its own direction a strai^t object, like a spear 
 or lance (as the Compact motive in the Ring, and the Lance 
 motive in Parsifal), but its possibilities in this line are soon 
 exhausted. Where the painter can do most, the musician 
 can do least, but the poet is less restricted. Because of the 
 nature of the material in which he works, he can express more 
 than the painter and describe more than the musician. This 
 may well be the reason why the descriptions of monsters found 
 in the Greek choruses do not often portray their motion, 
 like the Dragon motive, but some feature of their appearance. 
 In Oedipus Tyrannus, 510, the sphinx is presented as "a maid 
 with wings" and in 1199 as "with crooked talons." Other 
 monsters are described in Euripides's Heradidae, 375-377 and 
 397, and Iphigenia in Tawris, 1244-^1248. In the Phoemssae^ 
 however, motion of one kind or another is suggested in 657-661, 
 806-«10, and 1018-1025. 
 
 Another instance of a different form of description result- 
 ing frcan the use of a different medium we find in the case of 
 the Rhine music in Bkeingold. When Euripides shows us a 
 river, he generally shows it in its setting, as in Phoenissae, 
 645-648: "Where the fidr wat^:« of the stream overflow the 
 fields, Dirce's fields, bearing green grass and deeply sown," 
 
66 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy j 
 
 and also Troades, 226-229, Phoenissae, 825 ff., Hecuba, 451 ff., 
 Bacchde, 406 ff., Iphigenia in Tauris, 1098 ff. The Rhine-music, 
 on the other hand, gives us no inkHng as to the character of 
 the country through which the river flows. But it makes us 
 realize the strong current, moving steadily below countless 
 undulating ripples and swirling eddies. It makes us more 
 intensely aware than colors or words could do, of a force tireless 
 and inexhaustible, all life and movement, ever changing yet 
 never entirely different. 1 
 
 The motion of one thing around another which is itself 
 moving forward is charmingly represented in Euripedes's 
 Electra (432-437): "Glorious ships which once went to Troy, 
 with nimiberless oars convoying the dancing Nereids, where 
 the flute-loving dolphin leapt in curves round the dark-beaked 
 prows." The same interrelation of two motions is indicated 
 in the Ring, where the Flame motive dances around the Call^ 
 which Siegfried is represented as blowing on his horn while 
 passing through the fire on his way up or down Briinnhilde's 
 mountain {Sf. Ill and Gottr. I.). , 
 
 (c) Part Played by Instruments on the Stage like that Played 
 by Chorus in Epeisodia 
 
 Related to these purely descriptive passages are those in 
 which the orchestra puts off its character of interpreter to 
 step on the stage and become an actor. These are the cases 
 in which a horn, a pipe, or a harp is represented as being played 
 on the stage, or just behind the scenes, while the actual sounds 
 are made by some instriunent of the orchestra. There is no 
 imitation or suggestion here. We are supposed to hear a 
 harp played by Tannhauser or Wolfram, a pipe played by the 
 shepherd in Tristan or in Tannhauser, a lute played by Beck- 
 messer, a horn on which Siegfried or Hagen is blowing, and 
 we do hear the tones of a real instrument in each case. When 
 
THE ORCHESTRA AS A BfEDIUM FOR POETIC EXPRESSION 67 
 
 it is not represented as played by characters who sing in the 
 drama, it is customary to costmne the members of the or- 
 chestra and send them on with their instrmnents, as in the 
 case of the trmnpeters in Lohengrin and Tannhauser. Gener- 
 ally the instruments made actors in this way add to the stage 
 picture, but have no effect on the progress of the action, and 
 in this respect the part they play resembles that of many a 
 Greek Chorus during the Epeisodia. Like the Chorus, they 
 often call attention to someone approaching. In Tann- 
 Mvser the horns announce the entrance of the hunting-party 
 (Act I) and of the arriving guests (Act II); in Tristan the 
 shepherd's pipe announces the approach of the ship that 
 brings Isolde to Kareol; and in the Gotterddrpmerung the horn 
 frequently heralds the coming of Siegfried. The singing of 
 the knights in Tannhduser implies the accompaniment of a 
 harp, and this the orchestra provides, not drawing our atten- 
 tion to itself in any way, but helping to produce the semblance 
 of reality. So the Chorus, in some Epeisodia, supplies the 
 listeners who are the necessary backgroimd for dramatic 
 speeches in scenes like Aeschylus, Choephoroi, 973-1064, 
 Sophocles, Antigone, 1155-1179, Euripides, Bacchae, 1024- 
 
 1152. I 
 
 . y~-: i - - 
 
 II. Orchestral Expression of Emotion 
 
 By far the greater part, however, of Wagner's music is 
 direct expression of emotion. The Vorspiel to Lohengrin is 
 often said to portray the descent of the Grail; but it does so 
 in the indirect way in which music by its nature is compelled 
 to describe all but a very few sights and sounds — that is, 
 by expressing, and so re-creating in the hearer, the emotion 
 they arouse. The description of the Venusberg in the Over- 
 ture to Tannhdttser suggests the revels only by expressing the 
 excitement and abandon that characterize them. Where 
 the medium of expression is verbal, we often follow the re- 
 
68 waoner's dramas and greek tragedy 
 
 verse method of procedure. Instead of description suggested 
 
 by expression of emotion, we find emotion expressed by means 
 
 of description. In the chorus (w. 288-368) of the /Seven 
 
 against Thebes, for instance, the dread felt by the maidens 
 
 in the besieged city receives, through the description of the 
 
 sack of a town, expression more productive of sympathetic 
 
 recoil on the part of the listener than would have been possible 
 
 through direct statements of fright. The indirection of such 
 
 methods of presenting either emotion or description often 
 
 gives them added force by stirring the imagination to greater 
 
 activity. ^ 
 
 (a) Long Passages 
 
 Joyous excitement is expressed in the latter part of Act 
 I of the Walkiire, from the point where Sieglinde says, "O 
 fand' ich ihn heut' und hier, den Freund," to the fall of the 
 curtain. The lovers' joy is to die in the next act with Sieg- 
 mund, but the orchestra does not even hint at the approach- 
 ing catastrophe. The second Stasimon of the Trachinians 
 produces a similar effect. It does not anticipate in any way 
 the tragedy whose approach we are to watch in the next Epeiso- 
 dion. Instead, it follows the trend of Deianeira's feelings in 
 what has preceded. Her happiness, Uke that of Siegmund 
 and Sieglinde, has come suddenly after a long period of dis- 
 tress. This is recalled in 647-652, as Sieglinde's suffering is 
 recalled in the music that goes with her words, "Fremdes 
 nur sah ich von je," etc. The sudden change of tone in what 
 follows is equally striking in both cases. In 653-654 the 
 words move with a victorious rush, Uke the music that ac- 
 companies "Doch dich kannt' ich," etc. These passages, 
 reminiscent of former sorrow, are preceded, in both dramas, 
 by longer joyful sections, in which the happiness of the char- 
 acters is magnified by being represented as shared by the sur- 
 rounding country (Track. 633-643, and Siegmund's song of 
 love and spring). Then follow passages that bring out 
 
 ;J 
 
THE ORCHESTRA AS A MEDItTM FOR POETIC EXPRESSION 69 
 
 the connection of this rejoicing in the outside world with that 
 of the principal characters {Track. 644-646, and "wohl muaste 
 den tapf'ren Streichen," etc.). 
 
 The scene in the Wcdkure is much longer than the chorus 
 in the Trachinians, but the conclusion (from "Bist du Sieg- 
 mund" to the end) is restless and impetuous Uke the second 
 antistrophe. Both urge haste — the haste with which Sieg- 
 mund and Sieglinde would rush to freedom in the forest, and 
 the haste with which Deianeira would have Heracles come 
 to her. The Sword motive is prominent in the score, for the 
 lovers depend on the sword to win their freedom. In the next 
 act, however, we are to see Siegmund die, with the sword 
 broken in his hand. Deianeh-a, also, is relying on something 
 that will fail her, and the last lines of the chorus appear, doubt- 
 ful as the text is, to refer to the robe that is to cause the death 
 of Heracles. 
 
 Other joyous odes immediately preceding a catastrophe 
 are the iropxiifuiTa, Ai. 693 fif., Ant. 1115, and 0. T. 1086 fP. 
 With the first it would be possible to compare, I think, the 
 ecstatic music of the scene between Brunnhilde and Siegfried 
 at the beginning of the Gdtterddmmerung, and with the second, 
 the music that accompanies the procession to the church in 
 Lohengrin, Act U. 
 
 Tlie orchestral expression of the lonely Tristan's anguish, 
 both physical and mental (Vors. Ill), has already been com- 
 pared with the choral description of the suffering of Philoctetes 
 (676flf.).i -r 
 
 The music that accompanies Briinnhilde's entrance, when 
 she approaches Siegmund to tell him that his death-hour has 
 come, is not quite so close a parallel to Heradidae (608-629), 
 but it resembles this chorus in several particulars. Siegmund 
 is to be sacrificed in order that the dignity of the gods, 
 particularly Fricka, may be maintained; Macaria is to be sac- 
 
 ^ Page 63. 
 
- ,( 
 
 70 waqner's dramas and greek tragedy I 
 
 rificed for the welfare of the state. The agony that the sacri- 
 fice involves for Sieglinde has been indicated just before (" Horch ! 
 die Horner — Siegmund — ha!")> as the grief of lolaus has 
 been su^ested in 602-607, but there is no allusion to either 
 now. There is something in the restrained tone of the music 
 and in its profound solemnity that leads our thoughts from 
 the particular to the general aspect of the situation. We 
 contemplate the approach of death, not merely, as during 
 Sieglinde's outburst, the approach of Siegmund's death. A 
 similar change in point of view is effected by Heradidae, 608- 
 617. The opening hexameter, like the Fate motive, which 
 begins the corresponding passage in the Walkure, produces 
 by its rhythmic weight, compared with the more rapid move- 
 ment preceding, a sense of calm. With the introduction of 
 the Walhall motive there is a return to the particular case 
 and the beginning of a more heroic strain. The glory of 
 entrance to Walhall will compensate Siegmund in part for the 
 loss of life. The compensation in Macaria's case is indicated 
 in the antistrophe, 618-629, the central idea of which is ex- 
 pressed in 623-624, "Far from inglorious the fame among 
 men that will open its gates to her." 
 
 (b) Short Phrases 
 
 The fright of the Flower-maidens in the beginning of Act 
 II, Scene II, of Parsifal is represented by a phrase in which 
 we find a suggestion of flutter, just as we do in Prometheus, 
 183, ifias Sk <f>p€vai ipedurc Suxropo$ t^o^o^. 
 
 The misery of exile, which is expressed in the moving phrase 
 heard in Flying Dutchman, Act I, before he says, "Weit komm' 
 ich her," has been given verbal expression by Euripides in 
 Medea, 441-443, "Thou hast no paternal halls, unhappy woman, 
 in which to find a harbor from distress," and 655-657, "On 
 thee not a country, not a single friend, took pity, suffering 
 things most dire to suffer." i 
 
THE ORCHESTRA AS A MEDIUM FOR POETIC EXPRESSION 71 
 
 The Slumber motive, with which Wagner produces some of 
 the most beautiful effects in the Ring, is as simple and peaceful 
 as Hecuba, 915-916, "Sleep sweetly on the eyes is shed," 
 And Philodetes, 827. 
 
 The impression produced by the Bondage motive, heard 
 so frequently throughout the Ring, is much the same as that 
 created by the lines {Andr. 133-134), "The conqueror is 
 upon thee, why struggle, thou who art nothing?" 
 
 The chiastic treatment of the Nature motive in Rheingold, 
 Act IV, deserves comment. It is an ascending phrase and is 
 used in the Ring to indicate life and growth. When Erda 
 tells Wotan that the power of the gods, which has been grow- 
 ing under his rule, is destined to wane, the Nature motive is 
 immediately followed by its own inversion, which is thence- 
 forth used as the motive of the Fall of the Gods. The effect 
 of this inversion is similar to that of the chiasmus in Choephoroi, 
 312-313, "For a blow blood-reeking, a blood-reeking blow 
 be atonement!" and, like it, presents in the briefest way the 
 central idea of the drama. The establishment of Wotan's 
 power and its overthrow constitute the subject-matter of the 
 Ring; the murder of Agamemnon and the resulting murder 
 of Clytemnestra constitute the subject^natter of the Oresteia. 
 
 (c) Wagner's Orchestra and the Choral Odes of Three 
 
 Tragedies 
 
 How far it is reasonable to consider that Wagner's orchestra 
 has followed in the steps of the Greek Chorus can be best 
 determined, perhaps, by analyzing in one characteristic play 
 by each of the three tragic poets the relation the choral odes 
 bear to the plot and dialogue, and by noting the instances 
 in which Wagner's music bears a similar relation to plot and 
 text. From such analyses of the Agamemnon, the Oedipus 
 Tyrannus, and the Hippolytus, the following comparisons 
 are taken. 
 
72 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy i 
 
 The second interlude in Gotterddmmerung, I, begins with the 
 Bondage motive, and concludes, forty measures farther on, 
 with the same phrase, to which a different introduction and 
 inflection are given. Similarly, the third Stasiman of the 
 Agamemnon begins and ends with differing expressions of 
 fear, 975-983, 1030-1033. The Unes that follow the opening 
 question, uncertain as the readings are, refer evidently to 
 the earUer time when the troubles whose results we are about 
 to witness were just beginning. The Bondage motive is fol- 
 lowed at once by the Rhinemaidens* CaU (in the minor) and 
 the Ring motive, which recall the opening of Rheingold and 
 the stealing of the gold. Siegfried's CaU and the Siegfried 
 motive are next heard — phrases that in the preceding dramas 
 of the cycle have always been joyous, but that have lost this 
 character through association with the sinister tones into 
 whose company they have been drawn. Siegfried is again 
 proving his valor, but now, for the first time, under an evil 
 influence and for a wrong purpose. Like Siegfried's activity, 
 Agamemnon's return, under normal circumstances, would 
 be cause for rejoicing, but the dominating will of Clytenmestra 
 has made it arouse foreboding instead. The effect of 988-993 
 is not unlike that of the CaU and the Siegfried motive. The 
 lines of the ode on which the greatest stress seems to be thrown 
 are 1019-1021, and the phrase on which the orchestra lays the 
 most emphasis is the Compact motive, in measures 19-20 
 and 27-28. Both portend evil and create a sense of the im- 
 possibiUty of escape. The blood Agamenmon has shed 
 will cause his own death, and the compact Siegfried has just 
 made with Gunther will bring destruction on his own head. 
 The interlude ends with the Bondage motive, enunciated with 
 an inflection that resembles Agamemrion, 1030-1031. The 
 pianissimo introductory phrase in measure 39 may be com- 
 pared to vw 8* inro vKorif, the sudden crescendo on one chord 
 to forte at the beginning of measure 41, to ^p«fK OvfULkyi^^ 
 
THE ORCHESTRA AS A MEDIUM FOR POETIC EXPRESSION 73 
 
 and the equally sudden diminuendo to the next chord, taken 
 piano in the middle of measure 41, to the corresponding decline 
 in intensity to ovS^v ^ircXiro/ftcra. 
 
 Throughout the Agamemnon the choral odes bring to mind 
 earlier events in the story, as the orchestra does in the later 
 parts of the i^in^. 
 
 Like leading motives, references to the law of Spacravri waBdv 
 and to Helen run through the odes, but seldom appear in the 
 dialc^ue. 
 
 Following the downfall of Oedipus, the Fourth Stasimon of 
 the Oedipus Tyranny^ reviews his life, briefly, but vividly, em- 
 phasizing its contrasts in a style whose grandeur Wagner 
 equals in the march that follows Siegfried's death in Gotter- 
 ddmmerung. The utter hopelessness of w. 1186-1188 is ex- 
 pressed musically in measures 1-13 (counting as 1 the measure 
 following "BrQnnhilde bietet mir . . . Gruss!")' The crescendo 
 and diminuendo occurring twice in measures 14-25 contain 
 a suggestion not imlike that of 1189-1192, and the sadness of 
 119^-1196 is to be found in measures 26-38. The climax 
 of the inarch follows, measures 39-63, in which the motives 
 associated with Siegfried's exploits are delivered fortissimo, 
 producing an effect like that of 1197-1203. The sudden 
 extinguishing of this blaze of glory in the next measures is 
 like the descent to 1204. There are only seven, measures 
 left of the march, while half of the ode is still to come, but 
 in these measures the BrUnnhilde motive points toward the 
 wrongdoing that has caused Siegfried's death — a crime 
 committed unconsciously, like that of Oedipus, against the 
 one person in the world he should have cherished. 
 
 Vv. 762-763 of the Hippolytus picture Phaedra's voyage 
 from Crete and landing at Athens. Such a contrast between 
 past happiness and present misfortune as is indicated in 755- 
 760 is generally su^ested in music by the transfer of a motive 
 from the major to the minor mode, or by some change in the 
 
74 waqner's dramas and greek tragedy I 
 
 manner of delivering it. Instances are the Ride motive in 
 Gotterddmmerung, II, when the captive Brunnhilde is led in 
 by Gunther, and the Kareol motive in Act III of Tristan and 
 Isolde. The latter expresses, when it first occurs, Kurwenal's 
 joyous certainty of his master's recovery, and it sounds again, 
 sadly and brokenly, when Kurwenal draws his last breath 
 beside the dead Tristan. I 
 
 Hippolytus, 1118-1141, is reminiscent of pleasures that 
 will never be repeated. We find something like this in Lo- 
 hengrin, III, at the close of the first scene. In the beginning 
 of this scene Wagner introduces a lovely phrase, to which 
 both Elsa and Lohengrin sing successively, and then together, 
 "Feeling for thee so sweet a glow in my heart, breathing joy 
 that none but God can grant." In the end of the scene, when 
 Elsa has asked the question that compels Lohengrin to leave, 
 just after he says, "Alas! now all our happiness is lost!" the 
 orchestra plays this phrase in a way that makes one poignantly 
 conscious of their former delight and of the fact that it is irre- 
 trievably lost. As the orchestra recalls something previously 
 sung, so the Chorus in 1138-1139, "Bare of crowns are the 
 resting-places of Leto's daughter in the deep, fresh grass," 
 recalls an earUer passage in trimeter, 73-74, "For thee this 
 wreathed crown from the unmown meadow, goddess, I have 
 made and brought." 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 ORCHESTRAL AND CHORAL PRELUDES 
 
 There are in Wagner's scores a number of important orches- 
 tral interludes, which separate scenes, as the choral odes sepa- 
 rate Epeisodia, while his preludes correspond in some ways 
 to the Parodoi. Where the Parodos does not open the tragedy, 
 the information given in the Prologue is seldom more than that 
 required for the complete understanding of one of Wagner's 
 Vorspiele. Any musicaJ^ listener would reaUze at the first 
 hearing what mood each prelude was intended to portray and 
 to create. But to understand the significance of the themes, 
 and through them the exact relation of the prelude to the 
 events of the drama, a preliminary study of the score or a 
 previous hearing of the work, or portions of it, is essential. 
 
 I. The Overture to the Flying Dutchman 
 AND THE Parodos of the Persae 
 
 In thematic construction the overture to the Flying DtUch- 
 man resembles the Parodos of the Persae. It presents two 
 contrasting themes, the motive of the Dutchman (the musical 
 symbol for his recklessness and the curse it brought upon him) 
 and the motive of Redemption, which he believes can never 
 be his. So Aeschylus contrasts the pomp and magnitude 
 of the Persian army with the defeat it never expected to 
 encounter. He uses more words to describe the army's vast- 
 ness than to anticipate its misfortimes, but the fear of dis- 
 aster, first suggested in w. 8^11, is more forcibly expressed 
 in w. 93-101, and completely dominates the last strophes 
 
 of the ode, vv. 114-139. Wagner treats the Redemption 
 
 '•■■--- ^ ■■ - 75 
 
76 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy 
 
 motive in much the same way. It appears first in measures 
 65-79, pianissimo; later, in measures 285-288, fortissimo 
 and nuiestoso; and beginning in measure 329, faster and 
 again fortissimo, it forms the main part of the finale. ' 
 
 The overture begins with a tremolo on D and A, but no 
 definite thematic idea is expressed until the third measure, 
 where the horns announce the Dutchman motive. It is a 
 curious fact that the third word in the Parodos is the first to 
 convey a distinct idea to the listener, and that this word, 
 Ilepo-wv, like the Dutchman motive, designates the individuals 
 from whom the drama takes its name. The first division of 
 the overture indicates the scene of the drama as clearly as 
 do the lines (1-7), "Of the Persians who went to the land of 
 Hellas the trusted counsellors we are called, and of their rich 
 and gold-filled dwellings the guardians, whom, by right of 
 rank, himself King Xerxes, royal son of Darius, chose to watch 
 over his country." The stormy sea is the Dutchman's only 
 home, and it would be as unnatural to think of him away from 
 its timiult as of the Persians deprived of their "rich and gold- 
 filled" palaces. Then, with a slackening of the tempo, the 
 second theme is introduced (measure 65), pianissimo, corre- 
 sponding to the first vague forebodings of the Persian elders 
 (10-11), "But about the return of the king and his gold-clad 
 army, forebodings of evil now greatly trouble the heart in 
 my breast." The word Persians in v. 15 brings us back to 
 what we may call the first theme of the Parodos and leads 
 directly to the long enumeration, beginning in v. 16, much 
 as the Dvichm/in motive, pianissimo, in measure 90, leads 
 to a return of the storm-music, which continues without in- 
 terruption from measure 97 to measure 179. In this passage 
 (measure 129), there is a repetition of the Dutchman motive, 
 fortissimo, which might possibly be compared to the 
 recurrence of the word Persians in v. 23, where it is given a 
 more emphatic position than in either v. 1 or v. 16. 
 
OBCHESTRAL AND CHORAL PRELUDES 77 
 
 The first change of metre (from six-quarter to four-quarter) 
 occurs with the introduction of the Sailors' Chorus (measure 
 179). This corresponds to the change from anapaests to 
 ionics, V. 65, where we come to the first mention of bridging 
 the Hellespont. In both cases a new theme is treated briefly 
 and dismissed, to reappear a little later {Fl. D., measure 267; 
 Pers. 109-113). This third theme, as introduced here, seems 
 only to emphasize the Dutchman's misfortime by contrasting 
 with it the cheerfulness of the Norwegian sailors, and yet in 
 the course of the drama it is through meeting these sailors 
 and their captain, Daland, that the Dutchman finds Senta 
 and his redemption. The reference to bridging the Hellespont 
 bears a similar relation to the principal theme of the Parados. 
 That action appeared to be the supreme display of the Per- 
 sians' power, but it led to their crushing defeat. 
 
 Soon after, we find the first emphatic enunciation of the 
 second theme, which interrupts the storm music quite sud- 
 denly at measure 285. It appears no longer as the remote 
 and indistinct vision suggested in measures 65-79, but as a 
 present power, majestic and invincible. We may observe 
 the same difference between the indefinite forebodii^ of Persae, 
 w. 10-11, and the convincing force of w. 93-101, "But the 
 wiles contrived by God to deceive, what mortal man shall 
 escape? Who is he who with swift foot and fortunate leap 
 will dart away? With kindly and beguiling mien At€ draws 
 a mortal into her net; thence it is not possible for man to spring 
 forth and flee," which interrupts, most imexpectedly, the 
 description of the might of the Persian army. A brief reap- 
 pearance of the fijTst theme follows (measures 313-320), 
 corresponding to w. 102-107, after which, with a change 
 of metre from six-quarter to four-quarter, the second theme 
 establishes its supremacy, just as with the change from ionics 
 to trochees at Persae, v. 114, forebodings of misfortune sup- 
 plant all else in the minds of the Persian elders. The anapaests 
 
78 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy j 
 
 (140-154) form a transition leading to the entrance of Atossa, 
 much as the orchestral opening to Act I accompanies the en- 
 trance and anchoring of the Norwegian ship and leads to the 
 appearance of Daland. 
 
 ■'- ''"'-■-■ I'- 
 ll. The Overture to Tannhauser and the Parodos 
 
 OF the Oedipus Tyrannus i 
 
 The greater part of the Overture to Tannhauser pictures 
 the revels of the Venusberg, much as the Parodos of the Oedipus 
 Tyrannus describes the plague. The latter destroyed the 
 strength of Thebes, as the former consumed the moral fibre 
 of its victims. This vividly colored music is preceded by the 
 Pilgrims* Chorus, a prayer for deUverance from spiritual weak- 
 ness that has the dignity and the urgency of Oedipus Tyrannus, 
 158 ff.: "First on thee, I call, daughter of Zeus, inmiortal 
 Athene, and the protectress of the land, thy sister, Artemis, 
 who in the circle of the agora sits on her glorious throne, and 
 I implore Phoebus, the far-darter, — O ye three who ward 
 off death, appear, I beseech ye! If ever before when doom 
 rushed upon the city, ye drove afar the flame of woe, come also 
 now." Both passages are characterized by that imiversality 
 which makes it possible to associate them with other situations 
 in which circumstances would be different, but the need the 
 same. The musical hnk between the divisions of the over- 
 ture is the theme that appears first in measures 17-31, and 
 later, with a change in rhythmical treatment, in measures 
 125-137. A similar connection between the first antistrophe 
 and the second strophe is effected by the word ir^/*o (woe), 
 which we find in 165-167, and again in 168-169, "0 horror! 
 countless are the woes I bear," where (like the theme in the 
 Pilgrims' Chorum) it has a different position in the metrical 
 scheme, which has itself been altered, with the change of 
 subject, to a more rapid movement. The appearance of 
 four-quarter rhythms and a quicker tempo with the entrance 
 
ORCHESTRAL AND CHORAL PRELUDES 79 
 
 of the Verms music (the Pilgnms' Chorus is in three-quarter) 
 is parallel to the change from the dactyls of the first strophe 
 and antistrophe to the logaoedics of the second. The aban- 
 donment of the sojourner in the Venusherg to the pursuit of 
 pleasm-e is represented by several striking themes, much as 
 the abandonment of the city to the plague is shown in the 
 pictures that crowd one upon another in w. 168--191. 
 
 Noteworthy also is the fact that the controlling agency in 
 the drama is presented first. The Pilgrims^ Chorus, suggesting 
 the spiritual power of human aspiration and endeavor, repre- 
 sents, Uke the oracle of Apollo addressed in the beginning of 
 the Parados, the higher force which is to direct the com^e of 
 events. 
 
 III. The Vorspibl to Tristan and Isolde and the 
 Parodos of the Supplices op Aeschylus 
 
 In contrast with the preludes to Wagner's earher works 
 the Vorsplel to Tristan and Isolde suggests no pictures. It is 
 the expression of a mood for which one could not easily find 
 a counterpart in the natural or the legendary world. Long- 
 ing, as hopeless as deathless, is voiced in every phrase, as the 
 note of appeal sounds from beginning to end of the Parodos 
 of the Supplices, We hear this note even before we learn 
 who the Chorus are, for Uke the Longing motive in Tristan 
 (measures 1-15), it stands at the very beginning of the drama 
 (1-2): "May Zeus, god of suppliants, look graciously upon 
 our company." The Danaids justify their appeal to Zeus 
 and the Argives by the claim of relationship to both through 
 descent from lo. A similar justification of the longing of 
 Tristan and Isolde is represented by the Glance motive, which 
 appears in measures 17-19. This motive is associated with 
 the time, prior to the drama, when, in an unguarded moment, 
 a glance revealed to them the love that subsequent acts ap- 
 peared to deny. In the course of the prelude the motive 
 
80 Wagner's dramas and oreek tragedy 
 
 reappears seven times (measures 32, 40, 55, 74, 84, 87, 94), 
 but the complete story of the glance is not told until Scene 
 III of Act I. The story of lo, referred to frequently in the 
 Parodos (w. 17-19, 41-54, 141-143, 151-153, 162-165, 170- 
 172), is more fully treated in the Second Siasimon (524-599). 
 I Although convinced of the justice of their appeal, the Danaids 
 
 are not certain that it will be granted, and they feel that in 
 the event of failure they will kill themselves rather than sub- 
 mit to the sons of Aegyptus (154-161). To Isolde, also, 
 death appears as a way of escape from longing unfulfilled, 
 and the phrase called the motive of Deliverance by Death domi- 
 nates measures 63-72 of the Vorspiel. The graceful char- 
 acter of this motive, which is absolutely devoid of the sombre 
 quaUty that generally distinguishes themes of similar signifi- 
 cance, may be compared with the surprising metaphor found 
 in 159-160, "We shall come to the king of the dead with sup- 
 pliant olive-branches, the ropes in which we shall hang our- 
 selves." In the conclusion of the Parodos the note of appeal 
 is again heard (v. 175), "From on high may he hearken to 
 our call," as is the Longing motive at the end of the Vorspiel 
 (measures 103-106), while the last ominous phrase (measures 
 106-111) finds a parallel inw. 165-166, "On an angry wind 
 comes the storm," which were undoubtedly repeated at the 
 close of the antistrophe. 
 
 ^ 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 ORCHESTRAL AND CHORAL CONCLUSIONS 
 
 Like the Greek Chorus, Wagner's orchestra generally con- 
 cludes the drama. It bridges the space separating the events 
 portrayed from the life of everyday to which we return, instead 
 of dropping us off at the end to get across as best we may. It 
 lends dignity to the fall of the curtain, just as the recited ana- 
 paests lend dignity to the withdrawal of actors and Chorus, 
 and it usually states in a general way the central idea of the 
 drama. 
 
 Tannhduser is the only one of the dramas in which the last 
 measures of the orchestral score are not particularly significant. 
 They are simply a repetition of the chords of the dominant 
 and tonic, and m^t serve well enough for the conclusion 
 of almost any opera, Uke the ending we find Euripides repeat- 
 ing in plays as different as the Alcestis, the Medea, and the 
 Bacchae. These measures are intended to do no more than 
 accompany the fall of the curtain, for what the orchestra usu- 
 ally contributes at the end of the drama has already been 
 expressed in the final sin^g of the Pilgrims' Chorus. 
 
 The conclusion of the Gdtterddmmerung is exceptional in that 
 the leading motive there employed is not one that has played 
 an important part in the score. It is the motive named Re- 
 demjMon by Love, representing the self-sacrificing impulse 
 which -is the opposite of the ambition that caused the tragic 
 end of Wotan just witnessed. In the last lines of the Antig- 
 one, Sophocles exalts in a similar way ro <^pov€iv (under- 
 standing), a quality which is the opposite of that which has 
 
 caused Creon's misfortime (1348-1349): "Understanding is 
 
 ■ 81 
 
82 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy j 
 
 r 
 
 the very beginning of happiness." The cause is then referred 
 to in a general way (134^1352), "One must in matters affect- 
 ing the gods commit no sin. Great words bring great blows 
 upon the overboastful as penalty," as in Gdtterddmmerung 
 the cause of Wotan's downfall, the building of Walhall, is 
 recalled by the Walhall motive. This motive first appeared 
 near the beginning of the drama (in the opening of Scene II 
 of Rheingold) and the motif of the corresponding lines of this 
 chorus also appeared near the beginning of the play, in the 
 Parodos (127-128), "Zeus hates exceedingly the proud tongue's 
 boasts." Finally we have a line that leaves one feeUng that 
 conflict and suffering have given place to peace, 1353, "To 
 age they have taught understanding." This is paralleled 
 in Gdtterddmmerung by the concluding repetition of the Re- 
 demption motive. 
 
 Parsifal, too, has a quiet ending, and it is possible, I think, 
 to see in it some resemblance to the concluding lines of the 
 Ion of Euripides. Parsifal has at last come to fulfil the longing 
 of the Grail knights for a deliverer, as Ion is going to fulfil 
 the longing of Xanthos and Creusa for a son. Both are to 
 assume positions of high honor, for which, in the drama, they 
 have been proved worthy, Ion by birth and Parsifal by char- 
 acter. In both cases the hand of a divine power has been at 
 work, and its long-doubted clemency finally proved. In the 
 Ion the scene has been laid throughout, and in Parsifal, through 
 two of the three acts, in the precinct of that power. Parsifal 
 concludes with the most significant of three motives that have 
 been associated with the Grail and its knights. This is the 
 motive of Sympathy (also called the motive of the Eucharist), 
 which has been used to represent the ChristUke love for all 
 mankind, which the knights endeavor to achieve, and which 
 has been reflected in Parsifal's life. The last utterance of 
 the motive by the orchestra seems, like the end of the Ion, 
 to be indirectly addressed to the audience. It exalts the 
 
ORCHESTRAL AND CHORAL CONCLUSIONS 83 
 
 divine power that has been active in the drama, and seems 
 to suggest that those who order their Uves in accordance with 
 its dictates will, like Parsifal, be rewarded in the end. The 
 implication resembles what is actually expressed in Ion, 1619- 
 1622. 
 
 At the close of Tristan and Isolde the orchestra gently pro- 
 duces a relaxing of the tension in which we have been held 
 throughout. By playing the Longing motive it points again 
 to the subject of the drama, just as the Chorus does at the 
 end of Oedipus Tyrannus (1524), "O dwellers in our native 
 city, Thebes, behold, this is Oedipus." This motive, because 
 of its close relation to the important situations of the drama, 
 recalls all that has combined to produce the tragic picture 
 before us, as do the lines (1525-1527): "by him the famous 
 riddle was solved, and mightiest was he of men; on his for- 
 tune no envious glance is cast by the people, by such a wave 
 of dire disaster he has been stricken." The moment in which 
 Wagner makes us contemplate the final picture, where the 
 central figures are motionless in death and the others in grief, 
 ^ves opportunity for a partial detachment and a turning 
 from the particular to the general, such as is produced by 
 1528-1529. "Therefore, in the case of mortals, look thought- 
 fully toward that last day, and call none happy," and in the 
 last tones that rise from the orchestra there is a suggestion of 
 ultimate peace, as there is in 1529-1530, "till he has passed 
 the end of life and suffered no distress." 
 
 The end of the WdUcure is in some respects not imlike that 
 of the Ajax. The conflict of wills is over and Wotan is con- 
 cerned with the performance of the last service he can render 
 the daughter who lies before him asleep and from whom he 
 is parting forever. There is the same dignified and tender 
 pathos in his actions and the music accompanying them that 
 there is in Teucer's directions for Ajax's burial (1402-1417). 
 And in the last few measures played by the orchestra after 
 
 t. 
 
84 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy [ 
 
 Wotan has turned away there is a complete unpersonality 
 and abstraction from all that is definite, such as we find in 
 the concluding lines of the Chorus (1418-1420). 
 
 The Rheingold ends, as all Greek tragedies had to end, with 
 the characters marching away from the spectators. The 
 orchestra plays the motives associated with the castle toward 
 which they are proceeding and the rainbow-bridge over which 
 they go. The anapaests of the Chorus that conclude the 
 Hecuba and the Supplices of Euripides also refer definitely 
 to the marching they accompany and to its supposed goal. 
 Like the Rheingold music, too, they reflect the mood in which 
 the drama concludes, which happens to be quite different 
 in the two cases: Hecuba, 1293-1295, "Go to the harbor and 
 the tents, friends, and make trial of the labors ordered by our 
 masters. Cruel is necessity," and Supplices, 1232-1234, 
 "Let us go, Adrastus, and give pledges to this man and the 
 city; worthy of honor is their toil for us." I 
 
 In the last part of Act III of Siegfried the orchestral and 
 vocal parts are as closely united as the choral and solo parts 
 in the KOfifioi that concludes the Persae of Aeschylus. The 
 orchestra supports the voices with all the volume at its com- 
 mand, and gives sympathetic expression to the emotions 
 that dominate the scene. The joy of Siegfried and Brtinn- 
 hilde is as ecstatic as the grief of Xerxes is overwhelming, 
 and the few measures played by the orchestra after their last 
 words simply conclude its reflection of their joy, as the last 
 lines of the Chorus conclude their reflection of their king's 
 sorrow {Pers. 1074-1076): "I will convay thee with sad la- 
 ments and groans." 
 
 The Flying Dutchman ends with action, like the Electra of 
 Sophocles. The Dutchman's redemption is accomplished 
 when Senta throws herself into the sea, and the restoration 
 of Agamemnon's dominion to its rightful owner is accom- 
 plished by the death of Aegisthus. Then, in the Flying Dutch- 
 
OBCHESTRAL AND CHORAL CONCLUSIONS 85 
 
 man, the orchestra briefly sums up the situation by playing 
 the Redemption motive in its most triumphant form, and 
 recalling in the DtiMiinan motive the suffering from which 
 the hero has been freed. The Chorus does practically the 
 same thing with reference to Orestes, when it says (1508-1510), 
 "O seed of Atreus, after much suffering, in freedom thou hast 
 but now emerged, by this attempt restored to thy right place." 
 It is worth noting that the first drama in which Wagner's 
 style reaches its full development, Tristan and Isolde, is also 
 the first for which he wrote a quiet orchestral conclusion.^ 
 From that time on, he ended every one of his tragic works 
 in this way. 
 
 * Also the first one written after his reading of Greek tragedy. Of. p. 3. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 LONG SCENES AND SPEECHES ', 
 
 Next to the important part assigned to the orchestra, the 
 most striking characteristic of form in Wagner's dramas is, 
 perhaps, the prevalence of long scenes between two, or at most 
 three, actors. He followed the Greek custom so far as to con- 
 struct his dramas almost entirely in this way. Sometimes 
 there is a chorus on the stage as well, or a smaller group that 
 serves a similar artistic purpose, Uke the Rhinemaidens, the 
 Valkyrs, or the squires to whom Gumemanz tells the story 
 of Amfortas and Klingsor. When such a group is intro- 
 duced, its dramatic functions are Ukely to resemble those 
 of the Greek Chorus in the Epeisodia. The squires in the 
 first act of Parsifal are sympathetic Usteners, Uke, for example, 
 the Chorus of Oceanides in the Prometheus. In both cases 
 their presence and their questions give opportunity for the 
 narration of what occurred before the drama begins. Once 
 in Wagner, a group (the Rhinemaidens in Rheingold) is made a 
 character in the drama, with interests at stake, Uke the Chorus 
 in the Supplices of Aeschylus. In no case, however, are the 
 separate members of these groups differentiated, and in es- 
 timating the number of characters taking part in a scene we 
 are justified in considering the group always as a dramatic 
 unit, and frequently as corresponding to the Greek Ohoros. 
 
 In five of the ten music-dramas, then, we find no scene in 
 which there are more than three actors. These are the Fly- 
 ing Dutchman, Tristan and Isolde, Walkure, Siegfried, and 
 
 Parsifal. In the Gdtterddmmerung there are only two scenes 
 
 86 
 
LONG SCENES AND SPEECHES 87 
 
 where more than three appear (I, 3, and a part of II), and 
 these are very brief. Similarly limited in the number of 
 characters introduced are two of the four scenes of Rheingold 
 and the greater part of Tannhduser (including most of Act 1, 
 the first half of Act II, and all of Act III). This leaves only 
 Lohengrin and Meistersinger, in each of which there is one 
 entire scene where no more than three characters appear 
 (Loh. Ill, 1, and Meis^. Ill, 1). 
 
 Characteristic of Greek tragic dialogue are the long speeches 
 and the contrasting ortxofivdto. Long speeches occur often 
 in Wagner's works as well, and it is in these that he secures 
 some of his finest effects. Seldom, however, does he employ 
 any rapid alternation of speakers resembling <mxoti.v$uL. In 
 Parsifal, II, 1, Klingsor and Kundry answer each other for 
 a time in short sentences, but no feeling of balance is pro- 
 duced or desired. Perhaps the nearest approach to crnxofivdia 
 is in the quarrel between Alberich and Mime before Fafner's 
 cave in Siegfried, II. Alberich's first three questions are each 
 three lines long, and Mime answers each in three lines; then 
 Alberich is given four lines at once, and Mime answers in 
 four lines; and after three of these eight-line groups have been 
 thus divided between them, Alberich's angry utterance suddenly 
 -expands to ten lines and Mime's reply equals it, after which 
 both limit themselves to five lines. The lines are so short 
 and the delivery so rapid that the effect of the alternating 
 three- and four-line exclamations is not unUke that of 
 
 artxofJLvBia. 
 
 Some of the finest passages in Wagner are the "narratives," 
 long speeches in which a character relates what is supposed 
 to have happened off the stage, or before the beginning of 
 the drama. The events so described are often as interesting 
 and as important as any that are represented. In this respect 
 the speeches resemble many of the most splendid passages in 
 Greek tragedy; but while the latter are not infrequently put 
 
88 Wagner's dramas axd greek tragedy 
 
 in the mouths of characters, Uke the measengers, who are 
 not personally affected to any great extent by what they describe 
 so vividly, in Wagner the character who tells the story is 
 generally the one most deeply concerned. In Tannhduaer, 
 III, Tannhauser gives an account of his pilgrimage to Rome, 
 which serves a dramatic purpose similar to that of the speech 
 of Prometheus in Aeschylus's Prometheus, 199-243. The 
 services which Tannhauser and Prometheus have performed, 
 and the condemnation to punishment which is their reward, 
 must be known, if the audience is to understand fully their 
 situation and their feelings. Besides this, Tannhauser's nar- 
 rative, like that of Prometheus, makes us reaUze, more keenly 
 than any complaint could, the injustice in the treatment the 
 speaker has received. In Tristan and Isolde, Act I, Isolde 
 describes her first meeting with Tristan. It took place before 
 the opening of the drama, but we recognize in it the beginning 
 and cause of all that is put before us. The meeting of Oedipus 
 with Laius bears a similar relation to the plot of the Oedijms 
 Tyrannus, and the dramatic purpose of the speech in which 
 he describes it (771-833) is like that of Isolde's. Long ac- 
 counts, like these, of something outside the drama, but closely 
 related to it, are common in Wagner, and many are raised, 
 by the music that is an essential part of them, to a level of 
 high poetic beauty. Such are Lohengrin's description of 
 the Grail and its knights {Loh. Ill, 2), Siegmund's story of 
 his adventures, and Sieglinde's account of Wotan's visit to 
 Hunding's feast (Wk. I), and the story of Amfortas and Kling- 
 sor which Gurnemanz tells in Parsifal, I. 
 
 Waltraute, in Gotterd&mmerung, I, 4, is perhaps the only one 
 of Wagner's characters that may be compared to an jyycAoc. 
 Her personahty is subordinated to her message, and we are 
 interested in what she tells for its own sake, not because it is 
 a part of her experience. Through her eyes we see the gods 
 in WaJhaU, just as, in Euripides's Ba^xhae, 677 ff., we see the 
 
LONG SCENES AND SPEECHES ' 89 
 
 Theban women in the forest through the eyes of the messenger. 
 His description of the manner in which the cattle are torn 
 limb from limb by the frenzied women prepares for the later 
 description of the death of Pentheus, which is the climax of 
 the drama (1043 ff.)* Similarly, Waltraute's narrative pre- 
 pare for the climax and conclusion of the Gdtterddmmerung, 
 in which we see Wotan sitting with the gods, whOe WaJhaU 
 is burned by the flames that rise from the funeral pyre of 
 Siegfried. 
 
 Less frequent are the long speeches that m^t be called 
 meditations, delivered when no other characters are present 
 as Usteners. Sachs's "Wahn! Wahn!" (Meist. Ill) and "Wie 
 duftet" {Meist. II), the Flying Dutchman's "Die Frist ist 
 um" (Act I), and Siegfried's reflections in the Waidwehen 
 scene (Sf. II) are examples. The almost constant presence 
 of the Chorus as listeners makes such meditations seldom 
 possible in Greek trf^edy. However, we do find them occa- 
 sionally, as in Agamemnon, 1 ff., ProTn^heus, 88 ff., and, if 
 we include lyric measures, the lovely song of Ion (82flf). 
 
 Instances in Wagner where a sudden passionate outcry is 
 followed by a quieter, more restrained passage are: 
 
 Wotan's scene with Briinnhilde in Walkure, II. 
 
 Elizabeth's plea for Tannhauser in Tannhauser, II. 
 
 Sieglinde's " Weiter! Weiter ! " followed by " Da er sie liebend," 
 etc., in WcLUciire, II. 
 
 The plaint of Amfortas in Parsifal, I, 2. 
 
 The instances in Greek tragedy are numerous. Among 
 them are: 
 
 Aeschylus, Prometheus, 561 ff. and 640 ff. 
 
 Sophocles, Ajax, 33 ff. and 430 ff.; Electra, 84 ff. and 
 254 ff.; Trac^iniac, 983 ff. and 1046 ff. 
 
 Euripides, Alcestis, 244 ff. and 280 ff.; Medea, 96 ff. and 
 214ff. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A FEW REMARKS ON RHYTHMS 
 
 As the rhythms in Greek were determined by the length 
 of successive syllables, it is generally possible to decide what 
 they were by reading the words. But we may read Wagner's 
 text without getting any idea of the variety of rhythm, even 
 in the vocal parts, while the effects often produced by con- 
 flicting rhythms in the orchestra must, of course, be heard 
 to be appreciated. In the first act of Tristan, the sailor's 
 song and Kurwenal's answer to Isolde begin with lines that 
 seem to the reader rhythmically identical: "Frisch weht der 
 Wind der Heimat zu" and " Wer Kornwalls Kron' und Englands 
 Erb'." But Wagner makes of the former a graceful phrase 
 in three-quarter metre, running through a Uttle less than 
 two measures : 
 
 / ;. ^ J. j^ 
 
 J 
 
 and of the latter a heavy, emphatic phrase in four-four metre, 
 filling four measures : 
 
 J 
 
 a> 
 
 In passages of emotional intensity the musical element becomes 
 more important than the verbal, and several tones are some- 
 times sung to one syllable. SiegUnde, in the last act of Walkure, 
 sings sixteen tones to nine syllables: 
 
 stes Wun — der 
 
 !. J /| J^. I J 
 
 Hch — ste Maid ! 
 
 J. J ;| J. ! 
 
 90 
 
 
 
 hehr 
 
 J. 
 
 J^/ 
 
 
 Herr 
 
 
 J. .^ 
 
 J- / 
 
 ; / 
 
A PEW REMABKS ON RHYTHMS 91 
 
 To produce this rhjrthm in Greek, it would be necessary to use 
 words with more syllables; as, for instance, 
 
 . Kol OavfMuriov fu>t toS* eariv, 
 
 vapBeve Kv8pa fiaXurr — 
 
 Wagner's habit of giving rhythmical prominence to the 
 important words in a phrase is invariable. In the following 
 lines from Elsa's prayer the italicized words receive rhjrth- 
 mical emphasis: 
 
 *^0 Herr, nun mi^meoiRiUer sage, 
 dass er mir ^Z/' in meiner iVof." 
 
 Not only do they fall on accented beats, but they are also 
 sustained much longer than the less important words which 
 conpect them. This is far from being a constant practice 
 with opera-composers, as it is with Wagner, and as it was 
 with the Greeks. An example chosen at random is (0. T. 
 203 ff.): 
 
 A.vK€t 3.va$, TO. re era )(pv<ro<rTp6<tKi>v av ayicvXav 
 fiikea BeXoifi av aSafuvr ivSartUrOax 
 aptaya vpoaraxOtvra. 
 
 (The imderscored words are those which contain long syllables.) 
 Such comparisons make one keenly aware of the difference 
 between the two languages. Long words in Greek do not 
 necessarily produce a sense of heaviness, as they generally 
 do in German or in English. The large number of voWels 
 and liquids prevents this, and it often seems as though each 
 syllable brought with it an additional grace. Of. Eur. Hec. 
 923 ff., and /. T. 427 ff.: 
 
 owov vevrrJKOvra Kopav 
 Ni7/>g8o)V .... X^/^ 
 fUkirtnxnv eyicvicXuK, 
 vX-qarurriouri irvoous 
 
92 Wagner's dramas and qreek tragedy 
 
 avpilovTiov Kara irpvfivav | 
 
 evvaiiav m/SoXtW •; 
 
 avpoK (<rvv) voruus I 
 
 ij irvev/uacrt Zttftvpov, ! 
 
 Totv irokvopv^ov eir' oT- 
 
 av, XevKav Aktov, 'Axikij- ' 
 
 ov S/od/iovs KaAAurraStbvs, { 
 aiavov Kara ttovtov; 
 
 There is an undulating quality in the words, like that of a 
 musical phrase. Beside it German words are rough and 
 choppy. But Wagner often avoids this effect by stretching 
 the words over phrases that join the ragged edges so smoothly 
 that we are not conscious of them. This is what he does 
 in such passages as "Die Liebe lockte den Lenz," in Sieg- 
 mund's Spring Song. 
 
 Long tones in Wagner's scores, like long syllables in the 
 Greek tragic lyrics, appear in large numbers in prayers and 
 invocations. Examples may be foimd in the prayers of Elsa, 
 Elizabeth, Tannhauser ("Erbarm' dich mein," in Act II), 
 Parsifal ("Erloser! HeUand! Herr der Huld," in Act II), 
 Amfortas (Act III), as also in Aeschylus, Seven against 
 Thebes, 166 ff., Choepharai, 783 ff., Eumenides, 321 flf.; Sophocles, 
 Ajax, 596 ff., Philoctetes, 1080 flf.; Euripedes, Iphigenia in 
 Tauris, 123 flf. Throughout the last of these passages long 
 syllables predominate, and consequently the occasional groups 
 of short ones stand out in bold relief (137-138, 220, 232). This 
 rh3rthmic speeding occurs where personal feeling is uppermost. 
 Wagner has recourse to it in similar passages in the prayers of 
 EUzabeth, Elsa, Ortrud (Act II), and Si^mund (Act I). 
 
 Groups of short syllables are used to express f r^t in Aeschy- 
 lus, Seven against Thebes, 239-241, Persae, 256 f., Promethetu, 
 183 and 904; Sophocles, Oedipus Tyrannus, 1313-1314, as 
 are short tones when Elsa foresees Lohengrin's departure 
 (Act III), when Sieglinde fears that Hunding will kill Sieg- 
 
^ A FEW REMABK8 ON RHYTHMS 93 
 
 mund {Wk. II), when the Flower-maidens are fr^tened at 
 Parsifal's arrival, and whenever Mime gives expression to 
 cringing terror in Rheingold and Siegfried (especially. Act I). 
 A cm«ory search through Wagner's scores for instances in 
 which he uses tjrpical Greek Ijnric rhythms led to the discovery 
 of the following: ^ 
 
 1. Trochaic — Nature jnotYve {Ring). 
 
 — w|— ^^l— w| — 
 
 This motive, as has been shown, is used frequently in the 
 Ring to produce effects similar to those produced by refer- 
 ences to Zeus in the choral odes in the Oresieia. It is inter- 
 esting, therefore, to note that the rhythm of this motive is 
 the same as the rhythm of the first lync reference to Zeus 
 in the Agamemnon, 160 ff. Fifteen of the twenty-four lines 
 of this passage in the Oxford text could be sung to the Nature 
 motive. It b^ins: 
 
 Zcvs, ooTt$ mr coriv, u rod av- 
 raivTo vat irpofrfwfirta. 
 
 2. Iambic — Donner moMYe {Ring). 
 
 KJ — \\J — \\J — \ 
 
 3. DactyUc — Brunnhilde's 
 
 "War es so schmahUch 
 
 War es so niedrig? " {Wk. III). 
 
 
 4. Ix^aoedic — the first Rhinemaiden's song in the b^in- 
 
 ^In these examines the value of all long tones is not exactly the same, 
 nor ki that oi all short tones; iMither has evay long tone twice the value 
 ci a diwt ooB. The signs reinesrat tiie note values only i^ffuozimately. 
 
94 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy | 
 
 ning of Rheingold, in which the melody and rhythm are 
 
 ^^i 
 
 /luui^, ai 
 
 5 tiic wyjiuo xiorvc u-yj 
 
 i±i^ 
 
 axixiif^ , 
 
 
 
 \^ KJ \J 
 
 v^ 
 
 \J KJ \ 
 
 
 
 KJ ^U KJ V^ W 
 
 w 
 
 \^ yj 
 
 
 
 KJ KJ W V^ 
 
 
 IL 1 
 
 5. 
 
 Cretic - 
 
 - Fate motive {Ring). 
 
 ... ^^ 
 
 
 - 
 
 .- 
 
 6. Choriambic — the Adventure motive (sometimes called 
 the Desire for Travel) in the Ring. 
 
 — \^ w — 
 
 Also, in Walkure, III, Wotan's { 
 
 " Hortet ihr nicht, 1 
 
 was ich verhangt? i 
 
 Schreckt euch ihr Loos? ' 
 
 Weichet von ihr." 
 Also, in Walkiire, II, Siegmund's 
 
 "Heiss in der Brust 
 brennt mich der Eid." 
 Also, in jSieg/ned, II, Mime's 
 
 " Leer soil ich geh'n, 
 ganz ohne Lohn'?" 
 
 7. Ionic — in Siegfried, I, Siegfried's 
 
 "Aus dem Wald fort, 
 in die Welt zieh'n. 
 Ninmier kehr' ich zvuiick." 
 
 O w \\J w Iv^ w I — I I <u \y 
 
 8. Dochmiac — Sympathy motive (Wk. I). 
 
 ^^ w v^ 1 — w — I 
 
 It is possible that a thorough study of Greek and Wagnerian 
 rhythms might lead to the discovery of some interesting points. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 POINTS OP RESEMBLANCE sijTWEEN WAGNER AND 
 THE GREEK TRAGIC POETS 
 
 Like Euripides, Wagner shattered the traditions of the art- 
 form in which he worked, and they have not been rebuilt on 
 the old foundations. Even Italian opera has felt his influence 
 and become less purely lyric and more dramatic. Yet his 
 works are as different from Puccini's, for instance, as the 
 Alcestia is from a comedy of Menander. 
 
 With Sophocles Wagner has, perhaps, nothing in common 
 except the perfect command of his chief medium of expression. 
 He selects and combines orchestral effects with an instinct 
 for values as unerring as that which guided Sophocles in his 
 choice of words; and the resulting product is as full of nuances 
 and subtlety. 
 
 It was the first of the great tragic poets, however, whose 
 dramas appealed most strongly to Wagner, and his works 
 testify to this. There is an Aeschylean grandeur in the scores, 
 and their harmonies are as arresting as the images of the Greek 
 poet. Both blaze with imagination and glow with passion 
 without losing, for a moment, their essential majesty. With 
 profound seriousness the musician and the poet have embodied 
 in their dramas truths so simple that any one could under- 
 stand them, yet of such universal import that all could derive 
 something from their contemplation. It seems to have been 
 natural to both Aeschylus and Wagner to construct on a lai^e 
 scale. Only the magnificent unity of purpose in such works 
 as the Oresteia and the Ring keeps them from becoming ob- 
 scured by their own bulk. But every scene built into the 
 
 95 
 
96 Wagner's dramas and greek tragedy ; 
 
 I 
 
 structure is put there not merely for the sake of its own beauty 
 or interest, but because it gives another view of the central 
 idea. Each incident in the plot brings together characters 
 who have come by different ways. If our perceptions are 
 keen, we may get a glimpse of these paths, and also of countless 
 roads leading onward. The Chorus of Aeschylus and the 
 orchestra of Wagner reveal them. By throwing many lights 
 on a single incident they make its full significance clear. Events 
 cannot bear this exhaustive treatment unless they involve 
 feelings so fundamental as to come — in some lesser form — 
 within the experience of almost any life. Of such is the sub« 
 stance of the dramas of Aeschylus and of Wagner. Aeschylus 
 makes us reaUze that there is no pimishment more terrible than 
 that which sin draws upon itself; Wagner makes us see that 
 there is no action more noble than that which begins in the 
 sorrow of S3rmpathy and ends in the joy of self-foi^tfulness 
 in heroic service. 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 Abschtlus. Tragoediae (edited by Arthur Sidgwick). Clarendon 
 Press, Oxford, 1902. 
 
 Brebchowanoff, GsoBa. Richard Wagner und die Antike. Xenien- 
 Verlag, Leipzig, 1910. 
 
 Chambeblain, Houston Stewabt. Richard Wagner (translated 
 from the German by G. Ainslie Hight). J. M. Dent and Co., 
 London, 1897. J. B. Lippincott Co., Philadelphia, 1897. 
 
 Chambsblain, H. S. The Wagnerian Drama. London and New 
 York, 1915. 
 
 Elus, William Ashton. Life of Richard Wagner. (An authorized 
 English version of C. F. Glasenapp's Das Leben Richanl Win- 
 ner's.) E^an Paul, Trench, Trdbner and Co., Ltd., London, 
 1900-1908. 
 
 Ellis, W. A. Richard Wagner's Prose Works (translated). E^an 
 Paul, Trench, Trubner and Co., Ltd., London, 1892-1899. 
 
 EuBiPiDBS. Fabulae (edited by GUbert Murray). Clarendon Press, 
 Oxford, 1901. 
 
 FmcK, HsNBY T. Wagner and His Works. Charles Scribner's 
 Sons, New York, 1898. 
 
 Glasenapp, C. F. Richard Wagner's Leben und Wirken. Breitkopf 
 and HSrtel, Leipzig, 1882. 
 
 Jebb, R. C. The Growth and Lifluence of Classical Greek Poetry. 
 Riverside Press, Cambridge, 1894. 
 
 Sophocles. The Text of the Seven Pla3rs (edited by R. C. Jebb). 
 University Press, Cambridge, 1897. 
 
 Waqneb, Richabd. Gesammelte Schriften. 
 
 Wagnxb, R. My Life (authorized translation from the German). 
 Constable and Co., Ltd., London, 1911. 
 
 Whbbleb, J. R. Tragedy. (In Grede Literaiure, Columbia Uni- 
 versity Press, New York, 1912.) 
 
 97 
 
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