the gigantic, overgrown thing sweet and an
endless delight.

The opening is as sublime in its simplicity as the first bars of the
_Lohengrin_ prelude. As the curtain rises on the depths of the Rhine,
"greenish twilight, lighter above, darker below," the lowest E flat
booms softly out (it has to be done by an organ pedal-pipe), the deep
voice of the river as it rolls massively on its course towards the
sea; and the effect is overwhelming. A theme then makes its appearance
in its first vague form, a theme which in one shape or another Wagner
uses throughout the four operas for the elemental beings--here, the
water nymphs, afterwards Erda. The mass of tone swells out; the music
becomes more active; and at last the voices of the Rhinemaidens are
heard. The whole of this is one of Wagner's most delightful things. It
is another illustration of his rule that a composer should never leave
a key as long as he can say what he wants while staying in it; for
some hundreds of bars there is no change, and then only a slight one.
With the entry of Alberich modulations begin. Here we have the
wonderful inventive Wagner: that figure, in the inner part of the
musical tissue, would alone stamp him as a great composer: the
composer who could invent such a theme could not possibly be a small
composer. The mock-coaxing of the nymphs might be a parody of the
Venusberg scene in _Tannhaeuser_; and later on there occurs a passage
that might be a parody on parts of _Tristan_. When Alberich steals the
gold we get that degenerate form of the Valhalla theme repeated again
and again, and the full effect of the device is only felt when, with
the change of scene, we hear the passage in all its nobility and
splendour. Wotan's greeting to his new castle is rather grandiose than
really fine: one feels the theatrical baritone; one feels also that
the quality of homeliness which makes Sachs a great character is sadly
lacking. In the _Valkyrie_ this unpretentiousness, so to speak, is
always present, and the music gains proportionately in
impressiveness. Wotan's opening phrase, grand and sweeping though it
is, somehow evokes a vision of an Italian opera baritone expanding his
chest, with arms extended in the direction of the more expensive
seats: this is neither the mighty Wotan of the _Valkyrie_, nor even of
the underground scene in this opera.

Nor is the vocal writing, in another respect, that of the greatest
Wagner. I have already spoken of the perfect