d
enters, and the act winds up with a showy trio.

No further comment is needed on this act: in structure, like the
first, it is only old-fashioned opera. It is in the third act that the
inherent weakness of the story for operatic purposes shows with almost
disastrous results. Only the sheer force of the music averts a
complete breakdown. The problem was to show Senta literally faithful
unto death. Evidently it was impossible for Vanderdecken to claim and
carry off his bride forthwith. Had that been possible the work might
have terminated with a short scene to form the real finale of the
second act. But Vanderdecken had asked for a wife, and Daland would
not have dreamed of letting his daughter go until the proper ceremony
had taken place. Besides, Wagner was writing an opera with the very
practical view of a performance in the theatre; and in those days of
lengthy operas (_Rienzi_ at first played five and a half hours) the
public would have grumbled if they did not get enough for their
money. No manager would have looked at a work no longer than the first
and second acts of the _Dutchman_. The final scene could not be made
very lengthy; so the composer determined to pad out the act with pure
irrelevant music, and the librettist had to find him words. In a piano
score now before me the essential part of the act, the scene in which
Senta redeems the Dutchman, occupies twenty-four pages; and these are
preceded by fifty pages of choruses of sailors, maidens and ghosts.
Allowing for the larger space occupied by choruses on the printed
page, we are half-way through the act before serious business begins.
It must be owned that Wagner has done his work superbly, even making
use of it to a certain extent. Girls bring provisions and drinks for
Daland's crew, and there is a lot of chorus and counter-chorus and
dancing. Then both men and girls call upon the Dutch crew. There is no
response. The ship lies wrapt in gloom; and, half afraid, the girls
and Daland's men taunt them with being dead. But suddenly the hour
arrives for the Dutchman to sail. With perfect calm all around, a
hurricane shakes her sails and shrieks and pipes in the rigging, and
the waters roar and foam; the crew come to life and call for their
captain in a series of unearthly choruses. Daland's men,
horror-struck, make the sign of the cross; the spectres give a
"taunting laugh" and subside; once again all is peace, and the
sinister vessel lies there, the air see