om the swamps and floods of my life often emerged the 'Flying
Dutchman,' and ever with irresistible attraction. It was the first
popular poem which took deep hold of my heart," says Wagner. At this
point his career began as a poet, and he ceased to write opera-texts.
It is true there was still much that was indecisive and confused in
the experiment, but the leading features are pictured verbally with
remarkable clearness, and the music invests them with a sense and
distinctness of convincing force as an inseparable whole, such as had
not been previously known in opera. It may be said that with the
"Flying Dutchman" a new operatic era began, or rather the attainment
of its dimly conceived destiny as a musical drama. It also expresses
the mental activity of the time and the longing for a new world, which
was to redeem mankind and secure for us an existence worthy of
ourselves. It still appears to us as the native land, encircling us
with its intimate associations, and yet there also appears in it the
longing for a return to our own individual identity, in which alone we
can find the traces of our higher humanity, which a narrowing and
degrading foreign influence had banished. Goethe's "Faust," Byron's
"Manfred," and Heine's "Ratcliff," all give utterance to the same
feeling, with more or less beauty and power; but the blissful repose
of deliverance really secured, they could not express with the
perfection displayed by Wagner. He was not only secure in this
advantage, but he was able to pursue it with increasing energy, so
as to push away to a great distance the obstacles which burdened the
time.

We perceive the same characteristic in "Tannhaeuser," which, it seems,
even at that time had impressed itself upon him with great force. This
legend also had its origin in the myths of nature. The Sun-god sinks
at eve on Klingsor's mountain castle in the arms of the beautiful
Orgeluse, queen of the night, from whose embraces the longing for
light drives him again at dawn. We must, however, also here confine
ourselves to the particular mediaeval form of the legend, as Wagner
himself relates it.

The old Teutonic goddess, Holda, whose annual circuit enriched the
fields, met the same fate after the introduction of Christianity, as
Wotan, that of having her kindly influence suspected and described as
malignant. She was relegated to the heart of the mountains, as her
appearance was supposed to indicate disaster. At a later period,