able to sing in this
manner. Carl Hill, who created the part of the magician _Klingsor_ at
the Parsifal Festival, in 1882, was one of these exceptions. He
reflected the spirit of the gruesome text assigned to him so admirably
that Wagner was delighted; but afterward he complained that Hill's
fine impersonation was not so widely appreciated as it deserved to be;
and why? Apparently, because _Klingsor's_ melodic intervals were not
pleasing, nor his sentiments sympathetic.

We must conclude from this that, in regard to dramatic singing, many
opera-goers are still a good deal like the honest Scotchman who, on
his first visit to a theatre, climbed on the stage and administered
the villain of the play a sound thrashing; or, like the Bowery
audiences, which applaud the good man in the play, no matter how badly
he acts, and hiss the villain, though he be a second Salvini.

Until operatic audiences begin to understand that singing is
commendable in proportion as it gives realistic expression, not only
to sweet and pleasing moods, but to various kinds of dramatic emotion,
the full grandeur and value of Wagner's vocal style cannot be
appreciated. A real epicure does not care to eat cakes and candy all
the time; he loves olives and caviare too. These may be acquired
tastes, but all taste for high art is acquired. And the time is,
apparently, not very distant when Wagner's realistic vocal style will
no longer be caviare even to the public at large, but will be more
enjoyed--even when it gives expression to emotions of anger, jealousy,
and revenge--than the cloying, sugar-coated melodies of Bellini and
Rossini, or those meaningless embroideries which even some of the best
of the older Italians (Tosi, for example) regarded as the most
beautiful part of song.

The great enthusiasm frequently shown at performances of Wagner's
operas in other countries as well as in Germany, seems to argue that
the public at large _has_ already entered into the real spirit and
meaning of the Wagnerian style of singing. But numerous experiences
lead me to believe the contrary. Allow me to quote, for example, an
extract from one of those letters, abusive or censorious, which
musical editors receive almost daily. "Is it not undeniable," writes a
correspondent, "that as long as the world lasts, one of its greatest
delights will consist in listening to the music furnished by the human
voice? The more highly cultivated, pure, sweet, and flexible the
voice