During the long interval that elapsed between the execution of the earlier portion of the Second Act of Siegfried and the resumption of his work many things happened to Wagner.  He composed Tristan and the Mastersingers; he went through his worst years of utter despair; he was taken up by King Ludwig.  As I have mentioned, he went to Triebschen to complete the Ring for the sake of his conception of the hero Siegfried—­and he went there a jaded man.  And there is an unmistakable quality in the music of his Third Act.  In Tristan and the Mastersingers we have the perfectly mature Wagner; inspiration, invention and technical accomplishment are perfectly balanced.  What we feel immediately in the third act of Siegfried is a certain over-ripeness—­as if the writing of music had become too easy.  As we proceed I shall give some instances of this, though not so many as might be given.

Siegfried is now on the point of reaching the height of his fortunes.  He has the Sword, has killed the Dragon, secured the Ring and the magic cap which will enable him to change himself into any shape he pleases.  Following the fluttering bird he comes to a pass on the mountain-side and encounters Wotan who, we know, had sworn that none who feared his Spear should pass through the fire.  He endeavours to stop the Hero, who shatters the Spear.  Siegfried passes on; the flames leap up at his approach and subside as he boldly goes on.  He finds Bruennhilda sleeping, awakes her with a kiss, overcomes her resistance, and the opera concludes with a triumphant love-duet.  This is the skeleton of what is, dramatically if not musically, the most important of the three acts.

The curtain rises on this mountain pass in a dark dawn:  an angry cold wind whistles and screams, and wild wet clouds are flying.  Wotan stands there; presently he summons Erda, who rises, as in the Rhinegold, with a “frosty light” about her; he asks her what will be the upshot of the day’s doings.  Her answer is no answer, and Wotan replies for her:  Siegfried will pass and 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