"My supposed successes," he also tells us,
"are founded on misunderstanding. My public reputation isn't worth a
walnut-shell." And it is true he has been applauded, patronised, and
monopolised for a quarter of a century by all the decadents of art and
literature. Scarcely anyone has seen in him a vigorous musician and a
classic writer, or has recognised him as Beethoven's direct successor,
the inheritor of his heroic and pastoral genius, of his epic
inspirations and battlefield rhythms, of his Napoleonic phrases and
atmosphere of stirring trumpet-calls.
Nowhere is Wagner nearer to Beethoven than in _Siegfried_. In _Die
Walkuere_ certain characters, certain phrases of Wotan, of Bruennhilde,
and, especially, of Siegmund, bear a close relationship to Beethoven's
symphonies and sonatas. I can never play the recitative _con espressione
e semplice_ of the seventeenth sonata for the piano (Op. 31, No. 2)
without being reminded of the forests of _Die Walkuere_ and the fugitive
hero. But in _Siegfried_ I find, not only a likeness to Beethoven in
details, but the same spirit running through the work--both the poem and
the music. I cannot help thinking that Beethoven would perhaps have
disliked _Tristan_, but would have loved _Siegfried_; for the latter is
a perfect incarnation of the spirit of old Germany, virginal and gross,
sincere and malicious, full of humour and sentiment, of deep feeling, of
dreams of bloody and joyous battles, of the shade of great oak-trees and
the song of birds.
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