productions of living authors, from a firm conviction that the time for fairly and dispassionately considering the extent of their influence upon the progress of Art has not yet arrived; but in this case no choice is left to us. The theories of Richard Wagner have already been so loudly proclaimed and so freely discussed, his works have been so fiercely attacked by one class of critics, and so extravagantly praised by another, that it is no longer possible to ignore either their present significance, their connection with the history of the past, or their probable effect upon the future. We therefore propose to conclude our rapid sketch of the changes which the Opera has undergone since its new birth in the opening years of the 17th century, by reviewing, as briefly as the nature of the case will permit, the peculiarities of the phase through which it is now passing, and thus enabling our readers to form their own opinion as to its relation to, or points of divergence from, the Schools we have already attempted to describe.
Wagner's contemplated regeneration of the Lyric Drama, as he himself explains it, demands changes far more significant than the mere adoption of a new style; changes which can only be met by the creation of an entirely new Ideal—a conception so different from any proposed since the time of Gluck, that the experience of a hundred years is utterly valueless as a guide to its elaboration, except, indeed, as affording examples of the faults to be avoided. Rejecting the very name of Opera as inapplicable—which it certainly is—to this new conception, he contents himself with the simple title of Drama. The Drama, he tells us, depends, for the perfection of its expression, upon the union of Poetry with Music, Scenery, and Action. Whenever one of these means of effect is neglected for the sake of giving undue prominence to another, the result is an anomalous production which will not bear the test of critical analysis. If we are to accept him as our oracle, we must believe that, hitherto, Composers, one and all, have erred in making the Music of the Drama the first consideration, and sacrificing all others to it. That they have weakened rhetorical delivery, for the sake of pleasing the ear by rhythmic Melodies which cannot co-exist with just dramatic expression. That they have impeded the action of the piece, by the introduction of Movements constructed upon a regular plan, which, whether good or not in a Sonata, is wholly out of place in a Musical Drama. That they have kept the Stage waiting, in order that they might give a favourite Singer the opportunity of executing passages entirely out of character with the Scene it was his duty to interpret. In place of such rhythmic Melodies, such symmetrically-constructed Movements, and such brilliant passages of execution, Wagner substitutes a species of Song, which holds a place midway between true Recitative and true Melody—a kind of Mezzo recitative, to which he gives the name of 'Melos.' This he supports by a rich and varied Orchestral Accompaniment, designed to form, as it were, the background to his picture, to enforce the expression of the words by appropiate instrumental effects, and to individualise the various members of the Dramatis personæ by assigning a special combination of harmonies, or a well-defined Leitmotif, to each. The management of this Accompaniment is incontestably his strongest point. No man now living possesses a tithe of his command over the resources of the Orchestra. The originality of his combinations is as startling as their effect is varied and beautiful. He can make them express whatever he feels to be needful for the effect of the Scenes he is treating; and he frequently does so with such complete success, that his meaning would be perfectly intelligible even were the Voice-part cancelled. His 'Melos,' thus supported, adds power and expression to the poetical text, and furnishes us with a very high type of purely declamatory Music—the only Music he considers admissible into the 'Drama,' except in an incidental form; while the infinite variety of orchestral colouring he is able to impart to it deprives it, to some extent, in his hands, of the intolerably monotonous effect it would certainly be made to produce by an inferior Composer. That he has selected this style from conviction that it is more exactly adapted to the desired purpose than any other, and not from any natural inability to produce rhythmic Melody, is certain; for his earlier Operas clearly show him to be a more than ordinarily accomplished Melodist in the best sense of the term. 'Mit Gewitter und Sturm aus fernem Meer,' 'Traft ihr das Schiff im Meere an,' and 'Steuermann! lass die Wacht!' in 'Der fliegende Holländer,' would alone prove this, had he never written anything else. His principles, however, were but very faintly perceptible in 'Der fliegende Holländer.' We find them more clearly enounced in 'Tannhäuser,' more strongly still in 'Lohengrin' and 'Tristan und Isolde'; but they only attain their complete development in his last great Drama, 'Der Ring des Nibelungen,' a so-called 'Tetralogy,' consisting of four divisions, each long enough to form a complete work, and respectively named, 'Das Rheingold,' 'Die Walküre,' 'Siegfried,' and 'Götterdämmerung.' From this quadripartite conception the Aria in all its forms is strictly banished, and Music is made throughout the handmaid of the Libretto, and not its mistress. The correlation existing between the two is so intensely close, that we may well believe it could never have been satisfactorily carried out, had not the poetical text been furnished by the Composer himself. Wagner evidently takes this view of the matter, for he has written the Libretti as well as the Music of all his later Operas; and it is evident that, where this arrangement is possible—that is to say, where the Dramatist is great, and equally great, both as a Poet, and a Musician—it must of necessity lead to higher results than any which are attainable when the work is divided between two men of genius, who, however closely
