PRELUDE
We have, all of us, read of the Golden Age, when the gods ruled over the world, and giants and dragons, dwarfs and water-fairies inhabited the earth and mingled with mortals. The giants were then a strong, stupid race, more rough than cruel, and, as a rule, generous among themselves. They were very foolish creatures, and constantly did themselves and others harm; but their race, even at that time, was dying out, and there were left of it only two brothers, Fasolt and Fafner.
The dwarfs, or Nibelungs, were entirely different. They were small and misshapen, but very shrewd, and so skilful were their fingers that they were able to do the most difficult work in the finest metals. They lived in an underground country called Nibelheim (Home of the Dwarfs), where they collected hoards of gold and gems, and strange treasures of all kinds; and Alberich was one of them. He was a hideous creature, so dark and evil-looking, with his small, wicked eyes and his hair and beard the color of ink, that he was always called Black Alberich—a very suitable name.
As for the dragons, they were rare even in those days, and though we shall have to deal with one by-and-by when we are further on in my story, I shall not say much about them now.
The water-fairies were beautiful spirits who lived in the depths of the river Rhine. They were simple and innocent, as became children of the Golden Age, and very lovely to look upon. In the peaceful twilight-land under the water they were perfectly happy, dancing in and out among the rocks at the river bottom, and singing soft songs, which, when wafted up to the surface of the Rhine, sounded like the faint sighing ripple of the river as it rolled onward through the valleys and the woods.
And the water-fairies had one great happiness in their quiet, shadowed lives. I will tell you what it was: On the top of a tall black rock in the river Rhine there rested a magical treasure, more wonderful than any of the Nibelung hoards, or the possessions of the gods themselves—a bright, beautiful Gold, the radiance of which was so great that when the sun shone down into the river and touched it the gray-green water was filled with golden light from depth to depth, and the fairies of the Rhine circled about their treasure, singing and laughing with delight.
What a wonderful time it must have been—the Golden Age—when such things were possible!
You smile and say that they were not possible, even then! Remember that this is a fairy tale—a day-dream—such as might come to you while watching the sunlit ripples dancing on the water, and hearing the little waves lapping on the pebbles—a fairy tale, that is all.
The Golden Age, as I think of it, seems a period in which anything might have happened. Closing my eyes, I can picture the majestic gods moving, great kings and queens among human beings; great kings and queens made young by Friea’s apples of youth. Friea was the Goddess of Love, Youth, and Beauty. She was the same as Venus, the Roman goddess, called Aphrodite by the Greeks, of whom, perhaps, you have read elsewhere. All that I am writing about happened, you know, in Germany; and to the people there the gods—or rather men’s ideas of them, and their names for them—were different from those of other lands.
So the King God, instead of being Jupiter, or Zeus, or Jove, was called Wotan, or sometimes Odin. And the Queen Goddess was neither Juno nor Hera, but Fricka; and the wild Thunder God was Thor; and the Goddess of the Earth Erda, which means the earth. She was the wisest of all the gods and goddesses (though Logi, the Fire God, was the quickest and cleverest), and she could prophesy strange things about the gods and the world, and everything happened just as she prophesied.
She would sink into the earth and dream, and all her dreams came true. She would tell them to her daughters, the three Norns, or Fates, and they would weave them into a long golden thread, into which they had spun the world’s history.
They spun under a great ash-tree which grew by the Fountain of Wisdom, and was called the Tree of the World.
One day Wotan, the king of the gods, came to the fountain for a draught of the Water of Wisdom. He drank, and left one of his eyes in payment. He tore a limb from the World-Ash and made it into a spear; and the spear, having strange figures upon it representing Law and Knowledge, was typical of the wisdom and power of the gods, and so long as that wisdom and that power endured no sword could break the spear nor could remain whole at its touch.
But the World-Ash, robbed of its branches, withered away and died, and the Fountain of Wisdom became dry.
And these things were the beginning of the end of the Golden Age. But wise people say that the Golden Age did not end until men began to value gold for its own sake and the love of gain, and to do wrong things to possess it. And now I will tell you how it all happened.
Motif of the Primal Element, out of which come the Erda, Norn, and Rhine Motifs
Song of the Rhine Maidens
Weia waga, wavering waters,
weaving and whirling! Walala weia!
CHAPTER I
THE RHINE MAIDENS
At the bottom of the river Rhine, about the dark rock where rested the invisible Rhinegold, there swam one morning before sunrise the Gold’s fair guardians, the three children of the Rhine. They were beautiful maidens, these three water-spirits, the most lovely of all the river people, and their names were Flosshilde, Woglinde, and Wellgunde. They were singing softly, and glancing constantly up to the rock’s crest, waiting for the appearance of the Rhinegold, which could only be seen when the sun had risen up above and sent its rays into the water to disclose the treasure. They sang a little rippling refrain that meant nothing except laughter and joy, and sounded very like the ripples of the water themselves:
“Weia waga—”
sang Woglinde,
“Wavering waters, weaving and whirling,
Walala weia!”
And so they sang on, till their voices mingled so with the ripple that both voices and water became almost one in sound.
Now, while these three lovely maids, seeming almost part of the water in their dresses of shimmering blue-green, with pale wreaths of river flowers in their hair, and their white arms looking frail as moonbeams as they raised them through the water—while they moved about the rock singing and laughing together, a strange, dark little man stood near watching them. He had risen out of a black chasm in one of the rocks, and he had come from far Nibelheim, through an underground passage. He had small eyes, his hair and beard were the color of ink, and he looked very wicked. Can you guess who he was?
He shouted gruffly to the Rhine Maidens, and they, being much amused at his ugly appearance, drew near with laughter and mocking words. They led him wild chases in among the rocks, they played with him merry games of hide-and-seek—merry for them, but not at all so for him, for he was clumsy in motion compared with them, and he became very angry because he could not follow them over the rocks.
“Smooth, slippery, slush and slime,” he grumbled. “The dampness makes me sneeze.”
At last, just as he had become thoroughly angry, there appeared suddenly a strange brightness at the top of the rock—a wonderful golden light that glowed with ever-increasing brilliance down into the water.
“Ah, see, sisters!” cried Woglinde. “The awakening sun laughs down into the depths.”
“Yes,” said Wellgunde, with soft delight, “it greets the slumbering Gold!”
“With a kiss of light the Gold is aroused!” said Flosshilde. And, joining hands, they swam excitedly about the rock, singing in bursts of gladness:
“Weia waga,
Weia waga,
Rhinegold, Rhinegold,
Glorious joy.”
“You gliders,” questioned Alberich (for it was he), “what is this that gleams and glistens over yonder?”
THE GLEAMING TREASURE
Laughing at his ignorance, the nymphs told him that it was a magical Gold; that whoever made a Ring from it would have greater power than any one else alive; that he could possess all the wealth of the world if he wished; and they so described the fairy powers of the treasure that Alberich’s wicked soul began to thrill with desire to have it as his own.
The sisters further told him that the Gold was safe from thieves, because it could only be stolen by some one who had made up his mind never to love any one except himself so long as he might live.
“We have nothing to fear,” said gentle Woglinde, “for every one who lives must love.”
But Alberich pondered silently. “All the wealth in the world!” he thought. “For that who would not give up love?” And he sprang wildly up the rocks.
“Listen, waves and water-witches!” he shouted, as he reached towards the gleaming treasure. “Never will I, the Dwarf, give love to any creature save myself through all my life.” And while, with wild cries, the Rhine Maidens hastened near to prevent him, Alberich, the Nibelung, tore the Rhinegold from the tall, black rock, and fled with it into the black chasm, and so to Nibelheim.
And, left behind, the nymphs could only wail for their lost joy with sobs and cries of “Sorrow, sorrow! Ah—to rescue the Gold!”
But it was too late. And in the dark hollow chasm, Alberich, fleeing with the treasure, laughed at their despair.
Motif of the Giants
Motif of Friea
CHAPTER II
FASOLT AND FAFNER
One morning not long afterwards the rising sun shone upon strange things up among the gods.
Wotan, and Fricka his wife, waking upon the mountain-top where they had slept that night, gazed up to where, built among the clouds, the spires of a wonderful palace glittered in the sunshine—Walhalla, the fair, new home of the gods.
It had been built at Wotan’s command by Fasolt and Fafner, the two brother giants, and they had been promised, in payment, the goddess Friea. But Wotan had never intended giving her to them, and so he told Fricka when she spoke anxiously of the reward promised the giants, declaring that the goddess was as precious to him as to her.
Even as he spoke Friea rushed wildly in, calling upon him to save her from the rude giants. In answer, Wotan asked where Logi, the Fire God, could be found, saying that where cunning and craft were needed, Logi was the one most to be sought after. But, look as he might, the wayward Fire God was nowhere to be seen.
And then came the great brothers, bearing huge clubs, and fiercely clamoring for a reward for their labors in building Walhalla.
“You slept while we worked,” they said. “Now claim we our payment.”
“What price do you demand?” asked Wotan, pretending not to remember any promised reward. “What will you take as wages?”
“Would you deceive us so?” cried Fasolt, in astonished rage. “Friea you promised us. We worked right heartily to win us so fair a woman.”
“Hush!” muttered Fafner. “Listen to me! Without Friea’s apples of youth the gods will grow old, and their glory will fade away. They will die like human beings if Friea be taken from them.”
So the giants talked together, planning how to steal the lovely goddess, who stood aside trembling, fearing that Wotan would refuse to protect her from the two savage workmen.
He meanwhile merely murmured softly to himself, “Logi is long coming,” and gazed expectantly about. But still the Fire God could not be seen.
Thor and Froh, two other gods, had appeared. The giants were growing more impatient and Friea more despairing, when Logi at last arrived. When he did he talked on a variety of subjects before he would pay any attention to the affairs that were worrying the other gods and the giants. But at last he set his clever brain to work at some plan by which his fair sister Friea might be saved. Knowing well the love of wealth characteristic of the giants, he told the story of the Rhinegold and the stealing of it by the Nibelung. He said that he had heard the maids weeping for their lost treasure, and had promised them that Wotan, the King God, would return it to them in time. The two giants began to feel the same desire for it that Alberich had had, and to whisper together concerning it, so vividly did Logi describe its powers.
“It seems,” muttered Fafner, “that this Gold is worth even more than Friea.” And he cried out suddenly: “Listen, Wotan, you wise one! We will give up Friea; but you will instead bestow upon us the Nibelung’s Gold.”
“We will hold her meanwhile as ransom!” cried Fasolt. And they dragged her away, despite her piteous appeals, to Riesenheim (or Home of the Giants), leaving the gods perplexed and sorrowing for their lost goddess.
As they stood silently together a mist seemed to steal upward from the ground, and floated between them. A strange shadow rested upon the faces of the gods. They looked pale and wrinkled; their hair was white.
“Alas! What has happened?” wailed Fricka, faintly.
The gods were growing old.
“See, then,” said Logi, the shrewd one. “Our Youth Goddess has gone. We are old; we are gray. The race of gods will come to an end.”
Wotan started and looked about him. His face was pale.
“Down, Logi! Let us go down to Nibelheim!” he cried. “The Gold shall be had for ransom.”
The gods called out good wishes after them through the mist, and Wotan, the King God, and his fire-servant, Logi, went down through the hollow, shadowy passages under the earth to Nibelheim, the home of the dwarfs.
Ring Motif
Nibelung Motif
CHAPTER III
NIBELHEIM
Alberich had forged a Ring from the Rhinegold, and, wearing it, possessed absolute power over the rest of the Nibelungs. He was the King Dwarf, ruler over all Nibelheim, the Land of Gloom. Ah! what a land of gloom it was! Through the dark shadows there streamed fitfully a lurid light from the forges where the dwarfs were working; their hammers clanged monotonously on the anvils. Slowly they laid the results of their toil in great heaps, and Alberich laughed at their weariness and gloated over the treasures, which he promptly claimed as his own.
Among the Nibelungs was one particularly crooked and ill-shapen, named Mime. He was Alberich’s half-brother, and, not unnaturally, hated the Black King with all his strength; for Alberich treated him even more cruelly than the others.
Mime, at Alberich’s command, made a wonderful cap of darkness out of some of the Rhinegold, which not only had the power of making its wearer invisible at will, but could change him into whatever shape he wished. This Alberich wore, and changed himself into a column of mist, in which shape he found he could move about much faster, and make things much harder for the dwarfs.
“Hohei, all you Nibelungs! Kneel to your King! Now he is everywhere, all about you, unseen, but felt and heard, you idlers!”
And the column of mist drifted off through a rocky passage, leaving Mime whimpering upon the ground.
Now, with the clang of the hammers there mingled the sound of steps, and from the black crevice in the rocks came two figures slowly down to Nibelheim. One was tall and majestic, with a helmet of gold and steel, a long cloak with strange designs upon it, and a deep golden beard that hung far down over his breast; one of his eyes was missing, and in his hand he bore a great spear.
The other was clothed in brilliant red, his eyes were bright, his step swift as a springing flame in dead grass. They were Wotan and Logi searching for the Rhinegold.
Logi accosted Mime in friendly fashion, and asked what was wrong with him.
“That wretch, my brother!” grumbled the Dwarf. “He treats us all cruelly. Leave me in peace!”
“How came Alberich by his power?” asked the Fire God.
“From the ruddy Rhinegold he made a Ring. With it he rules us. But,” asked the Nibelung, staring at them, “who are you both?”
“Friends that perhaps may free the Nibelung people,” laughed Logi, and at the same time Alberich appeared, scolding, screaming, and ill-treating all who came in his way. Driving Mime away with the rest of the dwarfs, he, scowling, asked the two gods what they wished.
“We heard of the wonders worked by Alberich,” answered Wotan. “We come to behold them.”
“Pooh! I know you well,” said the Dwarf King. “Such notable guests”—and he sneered—“could only have been led by envy to Nibelheim.”
“Surely you know me,” said Logi. “I have lit your forges, gnome. Cannot you trust me?”
“To be sure I know you,” grinned Alberich. “And I will always trust you to be untrustworthy. I don’t fear you.”
“How brave you are,” said Logi, in pretended admiration.
“Do you see that treasure?” said the Nibelung, proudly pointing to a great heap of gold and gems.
The gods assented.
“But,” said Wotan, “what good does it do you, here in Nibelheim?”
Alberich glared at him, and then laughed.
“Ha! ha! But wait!” he said. “You gods! You gods! You have looked down upon us Nibelungs. Now we, with the help of the Golden Ring, will sway the whole world. We will storm the gates of Walhalla! Beware! Ha! ha! Do you hear me? Beware!”
Wotan, in anger, started forward, but Logi slipped in front of him.
“Most wonderful are you, O Nibelung!” he said, admiringly. “I salute you as the mightiest creature alive. But tell me one thing, O wise one. How guard you your Ring from thieves?”
“Does Logi think that all are as foolish as himself?” asked Alberich. “That danger I provided for. A Cap of Darkness, called the Tarnhelm, is mine, to change me into whatever shape I wish, and also to hide me at any time. So, my friend, guard I my Ring, sleeping or waking, as I wish.”
“Wondrous above all it seems!” cried Logi. “Prove it, O Dwarf!”
“That I will. What shape shall I take?”
“Whatever you wish,” answered Logi. “It is sure to be wonderful.”
Alberich placed the metal cap upon his head and became a great dragon, writhing on the ground.
“Wonderful!” cried the gods.
“Yet I should again like to behold its magic. Is it possible to become small as well as large by its aid?” asked Logi. “I beg of you show us if you can become small, O great one!”
“Nothing easier!” cried Alberich, beginning to enjoy himself. “Look, then, O gods!” He placed the helmet on his head and vanished. A toad hopped on the ground in his stead.
“Quick! Hold him!” cried the Fire God; and Wotan firmly held the toad with his foot, while Logi lifted up the Tarnhelm, which still rested upon its great head. And behold! Alberich lay at their feet, struggling and roaring with rage.
The Fire God produced a rope, and the two gods bound the Nibelung and carried him with them up the dark passage-way through which they had descended, and left behind them the crimson fires, the clanging hammers, the gloom, and hopelessness of Nibelheim.
Motif of Alberich’s Spell
CHAPTER IV
THE RAINBOW BRIDGE
Out of the underground world into the wild, mountainous country above, veiled still with the strange gray mist of age, came the two gods and their captive, Alberich.
He was snarling and grumbling, being much enraged at being bound by the hated gods, and, above all, at having his beloved Tarnhelm in the hands of Logi, whom he especially detested. Also, he feared that he would be forced to give up the Ring, which he still wore on his finger; and, partly to prevent the gods from wishing for this, he soon consented to give them the hoard which his servants, the Nibelungs, had collected in Nibelheim. Touching the Ring with his lips, he murmured a command, or spell, and from the under-world came the little dark dwarfs bearing great loads of treasure, which they placed at his feet.
Ashamed, and hating that they should see him a captive, Alberich loudly ordered them off with threats and harsh words, and then demanded that the gods should release him, while the Nibelungs crept back into the dark hole that led to Nibelheim.
Logi, casting the Tarnhelm upon the pile, asked if the Dwarf should be freed.
“He wears a bright Ring,” said the King God. “Let it be added to the heap!”
“The Ring!” wildly cried Alberich. “The Ring! I will never give it up! It is mine!”
“Thief! You stole it from the Rhine Children,” said Wotan. “Do you call it, then, yours?” and he tore the Ring from Alberich’s finger and placed it on his own.
“Let him go!” he said to Logi, who obeyed, and the Nibelung was free. Rising from the ground, he glared horribly at the gods.
“Listen to the spell I cast on the Ring!” he said, with a peal of wild laughter. “None who possess it shall ever through it come to happiness. Sorrow attends it, and whoever owns it shall know grief. His death shall be sad, his life a failure. This doom shall attend the Ring until it comes back to my hand. Hear the spell Alberich has placed on the Gold!”
He laughed again, and vanished in the dark hole that led to Nibelheim.
Wotan stood silently gazing at the Ring on his finger. Logi, looking off in the distance, saw Fasolt and Fafner nearing, with Friea. As she came closer, the gray mist began to clear slightly away, though it still hung about in heavy clouds, hiding Walhalla’s spires. Fricka, Thor, and Froh, quickly drawing near from another direction, spoke of the growing warmth and clearness of the air.
“Dear sister, welcome back to us!” cried Fricka, as the giants strode out with Friea. But, when the two goddesses started forward to meet each other, Fasolt caught hold of his captive and held her fast.
“Wait! Wait!” he cried. “Where is the ransom?”
“Behold it!” said Wotan, pointing to the heap of treasure.
The giants declared that when a pile of gold had been erected high enough to hide the Love Goddess from view, they would return her to the gods—but not before. Accordingly, a heap was made which, as it grew higher with added treasure, soon hid Friea entirely, save for a gleam of her bright hair, which Fafner’s keen eye descried. The Tarnhelm must go to hide it.
That accomplished, Fasolt strained his eyes to find an unfilled crevice. Through a tiny space he beheld one of the goddess’s eyes, and demanded the Ring to fill up the chink.
“The Ring!” exclaimed Wotan, starting back.
“The Ring!” cried Logi. “Nonsense! It is the Rhine Children’s treasure. The King God will return it to them.”
“Foolish you are,” said Wotan, in a low voice. “I shall keep it myself.”
“Bad is the prospect for the fulfilment of my promise to the weeping Rhine Children,” said Logi, softly.
“Your promise does not bind me,” said the King of the Gods. “I shall keep the Ring.”
“Hand over the ransom!” cried Fafner, loudly.
“Never!” said Wotan.
“Then Friea is ours!” roared the giants, and they grasped her once more.
The gods, in chorus, begged Wotan to give the wranglers the treasure, but he was deaf to their entreaties. His eyes were fastened upon the bright Ring’s glitter; he was blind to all else.
Suddenly the light seemed to die out from the world. All grew dark. From a black chasm in the rocks rose a woman’s figure in a strange halo of blue light. Her face was pale, with a look of deepest mystery upon it. Lifting her hand, she spoke in low, solemn tones to Wotan:
“Hear my warning! Avoid the Ring, with its terrible spell! Heed me, O Wotan!”
“Who are you who warn me?” asked the god.
“I understand all things; wisest in all the world am I. The witch-wife Erda, men call me, Mother of the Norns. Listen, listen, listen! A day of dusk and gloom is coming for the gods. Beware of the Ring!”
She sank down into the earth once more. The blue light faded away. As she vanished she spoke again:
“Think well on what I have said!”
She was gone. Slowly the light came back to the world. Lost in thought, Wotan stood a moment; then turned quickly to the giants, and tore the Ring from his finger.
“It is yours!” he declared; and he tossed it on to the pile. “Back to us, Friea!” and the Love Goddess gladly flew back to their midst.
Fafner and Fasolt began fighting over the Ring at once, and Alberich’s dark spell quickly made itself felt. For Fasolt, seizing the Ring, was killed by his brother, who, with Ring and treasure, fled away to a far cave, named Hate Hole, and there, in the shape of a great dragon, guarded his hoard in loneliness for many years. But that is a different part of my story.
After the death of Fasolt and the flight of Fafner with the treasure, the clouds hanging low over the gods were cleared away by a great storm, and, as Walhalla appeared shining in the sun, a rainbow bridge spanned the space between the palace and the gods, who passed over it to their new home.
“These gods—how foolish and blind!” said Logi to himself, as he went with them. “I feel ashamed that I am one of them, bound to share in their doings.”
The beautiful palace glittered brightly. The gods smiled as they passed over the rainbow bridge. Only from the Rhine below there came a sound of wailing.
“O Rhinegold! Rhinegold!” sang the weeping Rhine daughters. “We long for your light. Trustful are those in the water; false are those above.”
Walhalla Motif
Part II
THE WARRIOR GODDESS, or DIE WALKÜRE
Storm Motif