excessive for a momentary loss of temper in
trying circumstances and a passing swear-word; and the girl was to find
the fullest joy her nature was capable of in sacrificing herself. But
there is no fundamental verity inherent in the idea: the Dutchman's
salvation might as well depend on a throw of dice; and all this early
nineteenth-century romantic sentimentalism, with one of its main
notions--that a woman cannot be better occupied than in "saving" a
man--this, grafted on to the stern, relentless old story, makes a
compound that is always unreal and sometimes ludicrous. But it gave
Wagner three opportunities: of painting the stormy sea, of depicting the
hopeless misery of the Dutchman Vanderdecken, and of expressing in music
woman's most passionate and unselfish love.

No one need be afraid of "not understanding" the _Dutchman_. The story
is simplicity itself. Wagner knew the theatre and every stagey device by
heart, and in none of his dramas is there anything half so hard to
follow as the plots, say, of _Rigoletto_ and _Aida_ and most Italian
operas. Nor, again, does the music present any difficulty. In spite of
the use of the _leit-motif_ which I shall discuss presently, the
separate numbers are as clean cut as those of any Mozart opera. He joins
his different items, it is true, but it is impossible to avoid knowing
where one leaves off and the next begins. The play opens with the raging
tempest on a rocky coast; the ship of one Daland is driven there, and
Daland goes ashore to see if there is any likelihood of the storm
ceasing--a proceeding at which any land-lubber, not to mention
experienced tars, might well laugh. Finding himself far from his port
and no probability of the wind and sea falling immediately, he goes on
board again to take a little rest, and descends to his cabin, leaving a
sailor as watchman, to see, I suppose, that the vessel does not batter
itself to pieces on the cliffs. The watchman sings himself to sleep with
a most beautiful ballad. The sky darkens, the sea boils more furiously
than ever, and the phantom ship arrives. With a prodigious uproar her
anchor takes ground--another evidence of Wagner's seamanship--and
Vanderdecken comes ashore in his turn. His seven years are up; now he
has another chance of finding the faithful maiden. The opening of this
scene is as fine as anything Wagner ever wrote; the later portions are
fine, too, but quite old-fashioned. The storm ceases, and Vanderdecken
ha