een a man and a jealous, ungenerous, querulous woman, and
_TANNHAeUSER_, with its contest between an impossible platonic affection
and piggish lust. There is not a touch of staginess about Isolda; she
was not born in the green-room. In her we have two elemental passions in
conflict--her love for a man, and her hatred for the same man after he
has shown manly gratitude by preparing her a lot that is loathsome to
her. The character of Tristan is not so transparent or simple. He had
loved Isolda--so much is certain; but whether he gave her up to curry
favour with the King (he himself says as much afterwards), whether he
dares not ask for her for himself, whether he does not know that Isolda
loves him--about all this we know nothing.

What we do know is that standing there on the deck of the ship are two
very tragic figures. They have drunk poison; they are consumed with
passion one for the other; death is close at hand, and there is nothing
to prevent them confessing their love and dying in each other's arms. If
Wagner meant us to accept the love elixir as the genuine spring of the
immediate drama, he might have saved himself the trouble. It is the
imminent presence of death that brings their love to light, as it is
their love that takes them to death. They gaze upon one another, and
rush into each other's arms. Brangaena, turning round, is horrified to
see what her officiousness has accomplished. The music rolls on in a
torrent of almost unendurable sweetness; the ship reaches land, and the
curtain drops as Tristan and Isolda, oblivious of all but themselves and
their passion, stagger in one another's arms, and the trumpets sound
without as the King approaches to claim his bride.

I hope I have succeeded in setting forth clearly the forces at work and
the nature of the two people on whom they are working. Writers have
indulged in grotesque pages of explanation and speculation, from which
they might have been saved by a careful reading of the libretto,
supplemented by a slight acquaintance with the music. The subject might
easily have become intricate--in fact, hopelessly involved and
entangled--but Wagner's consummate dramatic art, stage-craft, and
knowledge of stage effect have combined to make all as clear as the day.
The end of each act sees the lovers in a situation which is at heart the
same, though in externals different. Rapt in each other, they care
nothing about the sailors, attendants, approaching crowds, and th