The first element to be noted in Wagner's operatic forms is the
energetic protest against the artificial and conventional in music.
The utter want of dramatic symmetry and fitness in the operas we have
been accustomed to hear could only be overlooked by the force of
habit, and the tendency to submerge all else in the mere enjoyment of
the music. The utter variance of music and poetry was to Wagner the
stumbling-block which, first of all, must be removed. So he crushed at
one stroke all the hard, arid forms which existed in the lyrical drama
as it had been known. His opera, then, is no longer a congeries of
separate musical numbers, like duets, arias, chorals, and finales, set
in a flimsy web of formless recitative, without reference to dramatic
economy. His great purpose is lofty dramatic truth, and to this end he
sacrifices the whole framework of accepted musical forms, with the
exception of the chorus, and this he remodels. The musical energy is
concentrated in the dialogue as the main factor of the dramatic
problem, and fashioned entirely according to the requirements of the
action. The continuous flow of beautiful melody takes the place alike
of the dry recitative and the set musical forms which characterise the
accepted school of opera. As the dramatic _motif_ demands, this
"continuous melody" rises into the highest ecstasies of the lyrical
fervour, or ebbs into a chant-like swell of subdued feeling, like the
ocean after the rush of the storm. If Wagner has destroyed musical
forms, he has also added a positive element. In place of the aria we
have the _logos_. This is the musical expression of the principal
passion underlying the action of the drama. Whenever, in the course of
the development of the story, this passion comes into ascendency, the
rich strains of the _logos_ are heard anew, stilling all other sounds.
Gounod has, in part, applied this principle in "Faust." All
opera-goers will remember the intense dramatic effect arising from the
recurrence of the same exquisite lyric outburst from the lips of
Marguerite.
The peculiar character of Wagner's word-drama next arouses critical
interest and attention. The composer is his own poet, and his creative
genius shines no less here than in the world of tone. The musical
energy flows entirely from the dramatic conditions, like the
electrical current from the cups of the battery; and the rhythmical
structure of the _melos_ (tune) is simply the transfiguration of the
poetical basis. The poetry, then, is all-important in the music-drama.
Wagner has rejected the forms of blank verse and rhyme as utterly
unsuited to the lofty purposes of music, and has gone to the metrical
principle of all the Teutonic and Slavonic poetry. This rhythmic
element of alliteration, or _staffrhyme_, we find magnificently
illustrated in the Scandinavian Eddas, and even in our own Anglo-Saxon
fragments of the days of Cædmon and Alcuin. By the use of this new
form, verse and melody glide together in one exquisite rhythm, in
which it seems impossible to separate the one from the other. The
strong accent of the alliterating syllables supply the music with
firmness, while the low-toned syllables give opportunity for the most
varied _nuances_ of declamation.
The first radical development of Wagner's theories we see in "The
Flying Dutchman." In "Tannhäuser" and "Lohengrin" they find full sway.
The utter revolt of his mind from the trivial and commonplace
sentimentalities of Italian opera led him to believe that the most
heroic and lofty motives alone should furnish the dramatic foundation
of opera. For a while he oscillated between history and legend, as
best adapted to furnish his material. In his selection of the
dream-land of myth and legend, we may detect another example of the
profound and _exigeant_ art-instincts which have ruled the whole of
Wagner's life. There could be no question as to the utter incongruity
of any dramatic picture of ordinary events, or ordinary personages,
finding expression in musical utterance. Genuine and profound art must
always be consistent with itself, and what we recognise as general
truth. Even characters set in the comparatively near background of
history are too closely related to our own familiar surroundings of
thought and mood to be regarded as artistically natural in the use of
music as the organ of the every-day life of emotion and sentiment. But
with the dim and heroic shapes that haunt the border-land of the
supernatural, which we call legend, the case is far different. This
is the drama of the demigods, living in a different atmosphere from
our own, however akin to ours may be their passions and purposes. For
these we are no longer compelled to regard the medium of music as a
forced and untruthful expression, for do they not dwell in the magic
lands of the imagination? All sense of dramatic inconsistency
instantly vanishes, and the conditions of artistic illusion are
perfect.
"'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And clothes the mountains with their azure hue."
Thus all of Wagner's works, from "Der fliegende Holländer" to the
"Ring der Niebelungen," have been located in the world of myth, in
obedience to a profound art-principle. The opera of "Tristan and
Iseult," first performed in 1865, announced Wagner's absolute
emancipation, both in the construction of music and poetry, from the
time-honoured and time-corrupted canons, and, aside from the last
great work, it may be received as the most perfect representation of
his school.
The third main feature in the Wagner music is the wonderful use of the
orchestra as a factor in the solution of the art-problem. This is no
longer a mere accompaniment to the singer, but translates the passion
of the play into a grand symphony, running parallel and commingling
with the vocal music. Wagner, as a great master of orchestration, has
had few equals since Beethoven; and he uses his power with marked
effect to heighten the dramatic intensity of the action, and at the
same time to convey certain meanings which can only find vent in the
vague and indistinct forms of pure music. The romantic conception of
the mediæval love, the shudderings and raptures of Christian
revelation, have certain phases that absolute music alone can express.
The orchestra, then, becomes as much an integral part of the
music-drama, in its actual current movement, as the chorus or the
leading performers. Placed on the stage, yet out of sight, its strains
might almost be fancied the sound of the sympathetic communion of
good and evil spirits, with whose presence mystics formerly claimed
man was constantly surrounded. Wagner's use of the orchestra may be
illustrated from the opera of "Lohengrin."
The ideal background, from which the emotions of the human actors in
the drama are reflected with supernatural light, is the conception of
the "Holy Graal," the mystic symbol of the Christian faith, and its
descent from the skies, guarded by hosts of seraphim. This is the
subject of the orchestral prelude, and never have the sweetnesses and
terrors of the Christian ecstasy been more potently expressed. The
prelude opens with long-drawn chords of the violins, in the highest
octaves, in the most exquisite _pianissimo_. The inner eye of the
spirit discerns in this the suggestion of shapeless white clouds,
hardly discernible from the aërial blue of the sky. Suddenly the
strings seem to sound from the farthest distance, in continued
_pianissimo_, and the melody, the Graal-motive, takes shape.
Gradually, to the fancy, a group of angels seem to reveal themselves,
slowly descending from the heavenly heights, and bearing in their
midst the _Sangréal_. The modulations throb through the air,
augmenting in richness and sweetness, till the _fortissimo_ of the
full orchestra reveals the sacred mystery. With this climax of
spiritual ecstasy the harmonious waves gradually recede and ebb away
in dying sweetness, as the angels return to their heavenly abode. This
orchestral movement recurs in the opera, according to the laws of
dramatic fitness, and its melody is heard also in the _logos_ of
Lohengrin, the knight of the Graal, to express certain phases of his
action. The immense power which music is thus made to have in dramatic
effect can easily be fancied.
A fourth prominent characteristic of the Wagner music-drama is that,
to develop its full splendour, there must be a co-operation of all the
arts, painting, sculpture, and architecture, as well as poetry and
music. Therefore, in realising its effects, much importance rests in
the visible beauties of action, as they may be expressed by the
painting of scenery and the grouping of human figures. Well may such
a grand conception be called the "Art-work of the Future."
Wagner for a long time despaired of the visible execution of his
ideas. At last the celebrated pianist, Tausig, suggested an appeal to
the admirers of the new music throughout the world for means to carry
out the composer's great ideas--viz., to perform the "Niebelungen" at
a theatre to be erected for the purpose, and by a select company, in
the manner of a national festival, and before an audience entirely
removed from the atmosphere of vulgar theatrical shows. After many
delays Wagner's hopes were attained, and in the summer of 1876 a
gathering of the principal celebrities of Europe was present to
criticise the fully perfected fruit of the composer's theories and
genius. This festival was so recent, and its events have been the
subject of such elaborate comment, that further description will be
out of place here.
As a great musical poet, rather epic than dramatic in his powers,
there can be no question as to Wagner's rank. The performance of the
"Niebelungenring," covering "Rheingold," "Die Walküren," "Siegfried,"
and "Götterdämmerung," was one of the epochs of musical Germany.
However deficient Wagner's skill in writing for the human voice, the
power and symmetry of his conceptions, and his genius in embodying
them in massive operatic forms, are such as to storm even the
prejudices of his opponents. The poet-musician rightfully claims that
in his music-drama is found that wedding of two of the noblest of the
arts, pregnantly suggested by Shakespeare:--
"If Music and sweet Poetry both agree,
As they must needs, the sister and the brother;
. . . . . .
One God is God of both, as poets feign."
* * * * *
Note by the Editor.--The knowledge of Wagner's music in England
originated chiefly with the masterly playing of Herr Von Bülow, with
the concerts given by Messrs. Dannreuther and Bache, and later on by
the Wagner festival held at the Albert Hall in 1877, where Wagner
himself presided at the performance of the music of his _Ring des
Niebelungen_. He was not quite satisfied with its reception; but this
is not altogether to be wondered at when we consider that the work was
divorced from its scenic adjuncts, and that in his operas--in
accordance with his own theory--the plastic arts as well as poetry and
music are equally required to produce a well-balanced result. None the
less, this festival greatly increased the interest in "the Music of
the Future;" and in 1880 _The Ring des Niebelungen_ was performed at
Covent Garden, while his other operas were given in their proper
sequence at Drury Lane. In 1882 his last great work, _Parsifal_, was
performed with striking éclat at Bayreuth. On the 18th of February
1883 he died of heart disease at Venice, whither he had gone to
recruit his health. A personal friend has recorded that Wagner's body
was laid in the coffin by the widow herself, who--as a last token of
her love and admiration--cut off the beautiful hair her husband had so
admired, and placed it on a red cushion under the head of the
departed. The body of the great musician was taken to Bayreuth and
buried, in accordance with the wishes he had himself expressed, in the
garden of his own house, "Vahnfried." A large wreath from the King of
Bavaria lay on the coffin, bearing the appropriate inscription--"To
the Deathless One." On the 24th of July in the same year, _Parsifal_
was again performed at Bayreuth--a fitting requiem service over the
great master. _Parsifal_ is the culmination of Wagner's epic work. In
it he completes the cycle of myths by which he strove to express the
varied and fervent aspirations of humanity; and in particular "the two
burning questions of the day--1. The Tremendous Empire of the Senses.
2. The Immense Supremacy of Soul; and how to reconcile them."
The Legend of the Sangrail, the _motif_ of his last work, is "the most
poetic and pathetic form of transubstantiation; ... it possesses the
true legendary power of attraction and assimilation." In Mr. Haweis'
words, "The _Tannhäuser_ and the _Lohengrin_ are the two first of the
legendary dramas which serve to illustrate the Christian Chivalry and
religious aspirations of the middle ages, in conflict on the one side
with the narrow ideals of Catholicism, and on the other with the free
instincts of human nature. _Parsifal_ forms with them a great Trilogy
of Christian legends, as the _Ring of the Niebelungen_ forms a
Tetralogy of Pagan, Rhine, and Norse legends. Both series of sacred
and profane myths in the hands of Wagner, whilst striking the great
key-notes, Paganism and Catholicism, become the fitting and
appropriate vehicles for the display of the ever-recurrent struggles
of the human heart--now in the grip of inexorable fate, now
passion-tossed, at war with itself and with time--soothed with spaces
of calm--flattered with the dream of ineffable joys--filled with
sublime hopes; and content at last with far-off glimpses of God."
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