lly or nearly out of sight: an occasional lash of the
tail, with plenty of smoke and red fire, would be much more effective
than this construction of lath and pasteboard. The music hardly ever
reaches a high level. There is not in existence any fine music
descriptive of any form of fighting; and here slashing passages on the
strings, blares of the brass, shrieks of the wood-wind, do not cover
the inevitable failure of invention. Fafner's dying speech is better,
for Wagner had something urgent to say on his own account: he wishes
to urge on us the significance of Siegfried's coming career; and he
does it with immense impressiveness. The day of the Ending of the gods
comes a little nearer when Siegfried takes possession of the Ring and
places it on his finger. As was arranged from the beginning of time,
things are taking their course; Fate, answering none who questions,
works out her plans silently, mysteriously, inexorably. A sense of our
darkness regarding our destiny fills the music with a profound
emotion.

If there has been too much of the pantomimic grotesque so far, Wagner
soon offers us compensations. The music now is amongst his freshest
and most fragrant. A reservation must be made touching the absolute
perfection of its beauty, but only a minute one. When first the bird
sang sweetly in the branches outspread above Siegfried's head we heard
the beginning of the piece known in the concert room as "Forest
Voices," the most exquisite sylvan picture ever done in music. A low
rippling figure, or rather part-figure and part-melodic theme, is
heard: it mounts higher, descends again, sways about, swells and dies
away; other melodies are interwoven with it; it becomes more rapid in
its motion, and grows louder until we feel the wind getting up and the
leaves dancing, and then comes the voice of the bird. This may sound a
little high-falutin', but is the only way in which I can render my
impression. The picture is so absolutely convincing that many readers
who, like myself, first heard the thing in a concert room will
remember that with the one hint conveyed by the title no scenery was
needed to make its meaning and feeling quite clear. The bird-voice is
managed with consummate art: a penny toy would have enabled the
composer to give a faithful imitation of bird-song--and would have
spoilt the faithfulness of the whole picture. So Wagner has translated
the real bird-song into terms of art, and thereby given us its spirit