In 1852, Wagner wrote that a Lohengrin singer was yet to be born. Twenty-four years later, for the Bayreuth performances of the Nibelung dramas and “Parsifal” he selected his singers from all the German opera-houses; yet it is not difficult to read between the lines of his subsequent comments, appreciative and cordial though they were, that few of these singers approximated to his ideal, and in most cases he had to turn instructor to impart correct ideas of his new vocal style, in which melody and declamation are amalgamated. Emil Scaria, the wonderful _Gurnemanz_ of the Parsifal festival in 1882, was the nearest approach to his ideal. Lilli Lehmann was too young in 1876 to assume the part of _Brünhild_ in which she afterward established a new standard of singing, combining the Italian _bel canto_ with German realism of dramatic accent and emotional coloring.
That it was at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York that Lilli Lehmann first revealed this new art is a detail of operatic history which would interest Wagner if he came back to-day. When he composed “Tristan and Isolde” he had in his mind prophetic visions not only of Lehmann, but of Jean de Reszke, who established the same new standard for tenors. While good dramatic singers are still scarce, the general level has been raised, as Wagner would be the first to acknowledge. How happy he would have been could he have had at Bayreuth masters of his style as Nordica, Eames, Ternina, Krauss-Seidl, Gadski, Fremstad, Schumann-Heink, Matzenauer, Homer, Knote, Burrian, Reiss, Goritz, Alvary, the De Reszke brothers, Urlus, Braun, and Fischer, all of whom are or have been associated with the Metropolitan.
One of the most important changes Wagner would note relates to the importance now attached to orchestral conductors. Before he wrote his essay on conducting, the orchestral leaders as a rule were little more than mere time-beaters. He taught them by example and precept to be real interpreters, molding an orchestral performance to their own will as much as a pianist does the piece he plays.
What would Wagner say about the operas composed since his death? Of all of them he would, I believe, like best Humperdinck’s “Die Königskinder,” which, while written entirely in his own style, nevertheless is charmingly original in its melodies. He would certainly not admire the operas of Richard Strauss, partly because of their repulsive subjects, partly because of the violence they do to the human voice, but chiefly because this composer too often uses his large orchestral apparatus to hide his poverty of invention. On the other hand, he would be likely to denounce Debussy for his boycotting of melody in “Pelléas et Mélisande” and for his neglect of modern orchestral means of expression and coloring. Turning to Italy, he would smile at the two short operas of Mascagni and Leoncavallo, which, when first launched, were supposed to have dethroned him. Possibly he might admire Puccini’s “Madama Butterfly” and the last act of “Tosca.” In any case, he could not but feel flattered on noting how, after his death, Verdi, who was born in the same year as himself, but lived nineteen years longer, followed his methods in “Otello” and “Falstaff.” In other countries Wagner would find no indication of a genius able to alienate the affections of opera-goers from his music-dramas. There has been no progress, no important development, since his death.