Oceans of ink have been spilled in discussing the question of whether the subjects of operas should be taken from history or mythology, and the question is still a mooted one.  To my mind it would have been better if the question had never been raised, for it is of little consequence what the answer is.  The only things worth while are whether the music is good and the work interesting.  But Tannhauser, Lohengrin, Tristan and Siegfried appeared and the question sprang up.  The heroes of mythology, we are told, are invested with a prestige which historical characters can never have.  Their deeds lose significance and in their place we have their feelings, their emotions, to the great benefit of the operas.  After these works, however, Hans Sachs (Die Meistersinger) appeared, and although he is not mythical at all he is a fine figure nevertheless.  But in this case the plot is of little account, for the interest lies mainly in the emotions—­the only thing, it appears, which music with its divine language ought to express.

It is true that music makes it possible to simplify dramatic action and it gives a chance, as well, for the free expression and play of sentiments, emotions and passions.  In addition, music makes possible pantomimic scenes which could not be done otherwise, and the music itself flows more easily under such conditions.  But that does not mean that such conditions are indispensable for music.  Music in its flexibility and adaptability offers inexhaustible resources.  Give Mozart a fairy tale like the Magic Flute or a lively comedy such as Le Nozze di Figaro and he creates without effort an immortal masterpiece.

It is a question whether there is any essential difference between history and mythology.  History is made up of what probably happened; mythology of what probably did not happen.  There are myths in history and history in myths.  Mythology is merely the old form of history.  Every myth is rooted in truth.  And we have to seek for this truth in the fable, just as we try to reconstruct extinct animals from the remains Time has preserved to us.  Behind the story of Prometheus we see the invention of fire; behind the loves of Ceres and Triptolemus the invention of the plow and the beginnings of agriculture.  The adventures of the Argonauts show us the first attempts at voyages of exploration and the discovery of gold mines.  Volumes have been written about the truths behind the fables, and explanations have been found for the strangest facts of mythology, even for the metamorphoses which Ovid described so poetically.

Halfway between history and mythology come the sacred writings.  Each race has its own.  Ours are the Old and New Testament.  Many believe that these books are myths; a larger number—­the Believers—­that they are history, Sacred History, the only true history—­the only one about which it is not permitted to express a doubt.  If you want a proof of this, recall that not so many years ago a clergyman in the Church of England was censured by his ecclesiastical superiors for daring to say in a sermon that the Serpent in the Garden of Eden was symbolical and not a real creature.