ve which should be beautiful as
sheer music, and not hinder the actors from playing their parts as well
as singing them. And, finally, he came to the conclusion that in his
music-drama he could effect a synthesis of all the arts. Music and
acting were the basis; there had to be scenery, and the scenery must
form pictures, with the figures always properly placed, according to
what I suppose painters would call, or refuse to call, the laws of
composition. But each of the figures, or groups of figures, on the stage
had also to be regarded as an entity, and as sculpture had not to be
excluded from the synthesis, the poses must always be sculpturesque.

Here was a programme indeed! Very fine it seemed to his young followers;
when new it seemed wholly admirable. Unfortunately, as Wagner found, the
moment it was tried it proved impracticable and useless. Take sculpture,
for example. Sculpture, I take it, has reached a fairly high point when
the marble figure gives one the sense of life and of motion. Wagner,
with his sculpturesque poses, instead of letting the living figure give
us directly the impression of life and of motion, sought (always
theoretically) to attain the end by an imitation of an imitation.
Moreover, no moving figure ever did or can suggest sculpture--even if we
wanted such a suggestion, which we don't. Even the Commandatore in _Don
Giovanni_, with the aid of stiff gestures and plentiful whitewash,
ceases to look like a statue as soon as he opens his mouth to sing.
Consider, too, the notion of making, so to speak, set pictures--of
dealing, that is, with his puppets and scenery in exactly the opposite
spirit to that in which he wished to deal with vocal music. A realistic
picture suggests Nature, and if the figures are well done they suggest
human figures; a well-arranged scene does the same. There was no reason
for getting indirectly, again by an imitation of an imitation, an effect
that can be got directly. As for producing a series of "composed"
pictures, it was practically impossible and highly undesirable. A
carefully-composed picture needs time for its appreciation, and no one
could, or would, try to judge or be affected by an ever-changing series
of pictures. Besides, if one did try, the attention would be hopelessly
withdrawn from the main things--the drama that is going forward and the
music. The picture plan is still tried at Bayreuth, with disastrous
results. With the most beautiful scenery it would f