ed many alterations and improvements, which he alone could make.
He was permitted to superintend the rehearsals, which was, of course, a
great advantage to the opera. The singers grew more and more
enthusiastic over the music, and when the first public performance was
given, on October 20, 1842, the audience also was delighted and remained
to the very end, although the performance lasted six hours. The composer
immediately applied the pruning-knife and reduced the duration to four
hours and a half (from 6 to 10.30,--opera hours were early in those
days); but the tenor, Tichatschek, declared with tears in his eyes, "I
shall not permit any cuts in my part! It is too heavenly."

Those were proud and happy days for Wagner. "I, who had hitherto been
lonely, deserted, homeless," he wrote, "suddenly found myself loved,
admired, by many even regarded with wonderment." "Rienzi" was repeated a
number of times to overcrowded houses, though the prices had been put
up. It was regarded as "a fabulous success," and the management was
eager to follow it up with another. So the score of "The Flying
Dutchman" was demanded of Berlin (where they seemed in no hurry to use
it), and at once put into rehearsal. It was produced in Dresden on
January 2, 1843, only about ten weeks after "Rienzi,"--an almost
unprecedented event in the life of an opera composer. Wagner conducted
the second opera himself (also "Rienzi," after the first few
performances), and gave so much satisfaction that he was shortly
afterwards appointed to the position of royal conductor (which he held
about six years).

So far, all seemed well. But disappointments soon began to overshadow
his seeming good luck. The first production of the "Flying Dutchman" can
hardly be called a success. Wagner himself characterized the performance
as being, in its main features, "a complete failure," and the stage
setting "incredibly awkward and wooden" (very different from what it is
in Dresden to-day). Mme. Schroeder-Devrient was an admirable "Senta,"
and received enthusiastic applause; but the opera itself puzzled the
audience rather than pleased it.

The music-lovers of Dresden had expected another opera _a la_ Meyerbeer,
like "Rienzi," with its arias and duos, its din and its dances, its
pomps and processions, its scenic and musical splendors. Instead of
that, they heard a work utterly unlike any opera ever before written; an
opera without arias, duets, and dances, without any of the gl