d take Bruennhilda--and then the
End of the gods. The dramatic object of this scene I have never been
able to grasp. Both Wotan and Erda know what the end will be; and I
can only take it that Wagner, fully aware that each of the constituent
operas of the _Ring_ would certainly be performed separately, wanted
to make his intention and the whole plot clear to those who had not
seen the earlier parts of the work. Musically it shows signs of that
over-ripeness I have just spoken of. The introduction is magnificent:
the leaping figure on the strings, the subject that serves for Erda
here (and elsewhere in different shapes for all the elemental beings),
mounting up against it, the phrase expressive of Wotan's anguish
(from Act II of the _Valkyrie_), the Spear theme rising by degrees and
ever increasing force, the whole leading up to the Wanderer
music--these at once tell a story and paint a picture of tempest
amongst the wild mountainous rocks. Had Schopenhauer heard this music
it would have justified his remark about the use of clouds. From the
moment that Wotan begins his invocation the quality falls: the motive
is, for Wagner, a poor, mechanical thing; and an appearance of life is
only kept up by marked rhythms, forced changes of key, and noisy
orchestration. Erda's music is not on the highest level. The colour is
there, and an atmosphere is gained largely through the employment of
music previously heard; but the vocal phrases are not true song, nor
that blending of true song with recitative of which we have already
noticed so many examples.

With the approach of Siegfried, however, at once the superb artist
shows himself: a complete piece made from the fire-music, the
bird-music, and Siegfried the hunter's theme is begun, to be
interrupted for a while, then resumed and worked up into a glorious
thing. The interruption is the scene between Siegfried and his
grandfather the Wanderer. It brings the tragedy of Wotan more vividly
than ever before us, and is from every point of view not only
justified but necessary. Siegfried scoffs at the old dotard, who loves
the boy as his own flesh and blood (if one may say this of a pagan
god) doomed to death by his forbear's ambition and errors. At last
Siegfried, impatient to go on, smashes the Spear and ascends the path
to where we see the distant glow of the flames. The music is supremely
noble and touching, with just a hint here and there of over-facility:
I mean chiefly that the voc