Since that day when, a quarter of a century ago, Richard Wagner ceased to be a dynamic figure in the life of the world, the history of operatic art has been, save for a few conspicuous exceptions, a barren and unprofitable page; and it has been so, in a considerable degree, because of him. When Mr. William F. Apthorp, in his admirable histo-ry of the opera—a book written with unflagging gusto and vivid-ness—observed that Wagner's style has been, since his death, little im-itated, he made an astonishing assertion. "If by Wagner's influence," he went on, "is meant the influence of his individuality, it may fairly be said to have been null. In this respect Wagner has had no more fol-lowers than Mozart or Beethoven; he has founded no school." Again one must exclaim: An astonishing affirmation! and it is not the first time that it has been made, nor will it be the last. Yet how it can have seemed a reasonable thing to say is one of the insoluble mysteries. The influence of Wagner—the influence of his individuality as well as of his principles—upon the musical art of the past twenty-five years has been simply incalculable. It has tinged, when it has not dyed and satu-rated, every phase and form of creative music, from the opera to the sonata and string quartet.
