Wagner's own resources of the sort were ample. What he wanted
was a plot that would afford him an opportunity of planning a
spectacular opera on the largest possible scale, and this he found in
Lytton.

Two claims, or rather, a claim and a counter-claim, have been, and
constantly are, made with regard to _Rienzi_. The first is that it was
inspired by Meyerbeer and a copy of one of his works--which one I do
not know; the counter-claim is that Meyerbeer had no part in the
business, and that on the contrary he learnt more from Wagner than
Wagner could possibly have learnt from him. Now the notion, I take it,
of composing a grand work for the Paris stage was suggested by
Meyerbeer's stupendous success--of that, indeed, I cannot admit there
is the faintest shadow of a doubt. Starting from Paris, where they
were concocted together with Scribe, Meyerbeer's operas went the round
of the opera-houses of Europe, and save in one or two quarters
Meyerbeer lorded it over the opera-houses of Europe. It may be true
enough that some of his mighty works had not been played at Riga--it
may even be true that Wagner had not seen the scores. But that I feel
less sure about; and, anyhow, if he had not seen them he was bound to
have heard of them. The talk of musical Europe was not likely to be
unknown to a man who both read and wrote in the musical papers. As
soon as Wagner conceived the idea he wrote to Scribe concerning it;
and, as we know, Scribe quite naturally left his communication
unanswered. We find, then, that this, not more than this, though
certainly not less, is the extent of Wagner's indebtedness to
Meyerbeer: that Meyerbeer, by writing clap-trap for a large stage,
with showy, tawdry effects, had gained enormous popularity and
corresponding wealth, and thus unconsciously had thrown out a hint
that budded and blossomed into _Rienzi_. How little beyond this bare
hint Wagner got from Meyerbeer we shall see when we examine the music.
A word must be said about the counter-claim. In his age Wagner at
Bayreuth, although he had fine musicians as his friends, had round him
many gentry who told him--greatly daring, to his face--not only that
he owed no artistic debt to any one, but that, on the whole, most
other composers owed him a good deal. One can excuse the weary old
man, sorely battered in life's battles, lapping up a little of this
sweet flattery; but it is hard to forgive the stupidity that still
makes the great composer appear ri