Not so
Wagner. The sound of the watchman's horn suddenly clears the street,
and no one is left but the watchman himself, who timorously toddles up
the street with his lantern, while the moon rises above the roofs of
the houses, and the muted strings of the orchestra softly and dreamily
recall a few of the motives of the preceding scenes. I was sitting
next to Professor Paine, of Harvard, at a performance of this opera at
the Metropolitan, one evening. He had not seen it before, and I shall
never forget the expression of surprise on his face when he saw the
curtain descending on this dreamy moonlight scene, with _a deserted
stage_. He considered it a bold deviation from established operatic
customs, and yet he could not for a moment deny that it was infinitely
more poetic than the traditional final chorus, with its meaningless
noise and pomp.
Not that Wagner despised the chorus, as is sometimes said. He showed
in the third act of this same opera, in the scene of the
folk-festival, that when a chorus is called for by the situation no
one can supply a more inspired and inspiring volume of concerted sound
than he.
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