PRELUDE
Holding in his hand his broken spear, the king of the gods wended his way to Walhalla. He sent forth stanch messengers to hew the World-Ash into a thousand pieces and pile them high about the gods’ palace. Then he assembled round him his heroes and the Walküres and the rest of the divinities, and sat in silence awaiting the Dusk of the Gods.
All the gods, far and wide, knew that the Last Twilight was impending; and fate relentlessly led all things to the end. To the Walküres’ rock came the Norns in the gray of dawn to spin. From hand to hand passed the golden cord. Each told a history in gloomy, chanting measures.
The oldest Norn sang of the days when the World-Ash was green and the Fountain of Wisdom purled softly in the shadow of the wide branches. She sang of Wotan’s coming to the spring and drinking; of the tearing of the limb from the World-Ash; of the withering of the great tree. Her song ceased. She flung the cord to her sister.
The second Norn wound slowly as she sang. Her tale was of the making of the great spear with which Wotan had ruled the world until one stronger than the gods had shivered the haft and overpowered the Ruler. She sang of how Wotan had now ordered that the World-Ash should be broken and piled about Walhalla. She paused, and the youngest Norn took the rope.
She sang of the bright palace where Wotan sat among the gods and heroes, with the great fagots from the World-Ash heaped around him. She sang that, when these fagots should be lighted and Walhalla burned, the Dusk of the Gods would come.
They sang of many strange events—these Norns—events of the past, of the present, of the future. They sang of the circle of fire lit by Logi about the rock. They sang of the Rhinegold stolen by Alberich; they sang long and sadly of the gods and their king.
“The web is tangled,” said the first Norn.
“Alberich’s spell tears at the strands,” said the second, and flung it to the third.
BRÜNNHILDE ON THE WALKÜRES’ ROCK
“I cannot reach the rope—it is too short,” said the youngest, putting out her hand.
The cord snapped. It had stretched across the past, but it could not touch the future. It was, indeed, too short.
“It breaks!” wailed the Norns, crouching in dread, as the faint light of day appeared.
“At an end is our wisdom!” they murmured in chorus, and wound the broken bits of the rope about their gray-shrouded bodies; then fled like mist into the earth, down to their mother, Erda, the all-wise one, she who had first prophesied the Dusk of the Gods.
When she had taught him all the wisdom that she knew, and given him all she had, Brünnhilde bade her hero go forth into the world and win fame and honor by great deeds. He must journey to the far lands peopled by brave men and high heroes and prove his courage and his strength. She would wait for him patiently, and he would come back to her when he had made all men know and honor him.
She gave him Grani, her stanch war-horse, and he placed on her finger as a parting love-gift the beautiful bright Ring that he had won at Hate Hole, and then he bade her farewell, and blithely passed down the mountain-side, blowing a clear, merry blast on his horn.
Brünnhilde stood on the Walküres’ rock and gazed yearningly after him, and the young hero went forth into far lands to know men and do great deeds, and find at last that strange place called the world.
Motif of Brünnhilde
Motif of the Gibichungs
Motif of Hagen
CHAPTER I
THE HALL OF THE GIBICHUNGS
On the banks of the river Rhine there lived a great warrior named Gunther, who was one of a valiant race called Gibichungs. He was the head of a great tribe of kinsmen and vassals, and his lands were wide and his halls spacious. His sister, Gutrune, was a maiden very fair and sweet to look upon, as beautiful as her brother was brave. They were both generous and noble, and would have done nothing but good all their lives had it not been for the evil influence of their wicked half-brother Hagen, the son of Alberich, the Nibelung. When their father, the brave Gibich, had died, their mother, Grimhilde, had wedded the Nibelung, and after a while had died herself, leaving wild, dark Hagen as a brother to Gunther and Gutrune.
He was a sinister and gloomy warrior, with gleaming black eyes and blood that seemed of ice, for never did his cheek flush or his lip redden. Pale he was and cold, dark-haired and sad, and his heart was black and cruel. He, too, was working to obtain the Rhinegold.
One day Gunther, sitting on a high throne beside his sister, asked Hagen what greater wealth could belong to the Gibichungs; what deed their chief could do that would aid the good fortune of the race and its vassals.
Hagen answered that it would be fitting for the head of the Gibichungs to wed, and he craftily told Gunther of the fire-encircled rock where dwelt the fair maiden, Brünnhilde. The fire could only be conquered, he said, by Siegfried, the Volsung, who would make a fitting husband for Gutrune.
Now, Hagen knew that Siegfried had already won the Walküre; but he was laying a plot, and the plot was wicked and deep. He told Gunther that Siegfried would go through the fire and bring Brünnhilde to the Rhine Chief if he could be given a magic-potion—a potion that would make him love Gutrune.
While they spoke of these things, a horn was heard, in the distance at first, but coming nearer and nearer. Soon a boat came down the river Rhine—a wide barge—holding a horse and a tall man in bright armor. Siegfried, in his travels through the world, had heard of the Gibichungs, and had come to see the great Rhine Chief, Gunther. As the boat touched the shore, he sprang from it, and hailed the warrior, in loud tones, asking if he would be friend or enemy. In answer, Gunther said that his house, his lands, his people were all at the service of the hero whose fame had reached even the hall of the Gibichungs; and Siegfried offered the strength of his arm and the might of his sword for Gunther’s defence and aid at all times.
So they made a vow, promising to remain true to each other, as heroes and brave men should.
“I have heard that you hold the Nibelungs’ hoard,” said Hagen, when Gutrune, at a sign from him, had left the hall, and the three warriors were alone.
“I left it in the cavern,” said Siegfried. “I cared nothing for the Gold. This is all I took”—and he showed the Tarnhelm. “What is its use—do you know?”
“It is the most artful of all the Nibelung’s work,” said Hagen. “It will change you to whatever shape you will, and carry you to the farthest lands in a moment, if it is your wish. Did you take any more of the hoard?”
Siegfried answered that he had carried away a Ring, but that it was now worn by a beautiful woman.
Even as he spoke, Gutrune, the fair lady of the Gibichungs, came out from her room at one side of the hall, bearing a drinking-horn, which she offered to Siegfried. It was customary in those days that a maiden should offer wine to a guest coming to the house of her race. So Siegfried, without a thought, lifted the horn and drank the mixture, saying softly to himself: “Brünnhilde, I drink to you!”
But, alas! it was not wine that was in the drinking-horn, but the love-potion—the terrible magic potion—which, as it touched the hero’s lips, laid a cloud upon his memory and a fire within his heart, so that he straightway forgot Brünnhilde and loved only Gutrune, the lady of the Gibichungs.
GUTRUNE AND SIEGFRIED
As he gazed passionately upon her, she turned away, filled, perhaps, with momentary regret for what she had done, and left the hall in silence.
When she had gone, Siegfried stood looking after her for a moment, and then, arousing himself from his reverie, turned to Gunther, asking if he were married.
The Rhine Chief replied that he had never wed, because only one bride would satisfy him, and she was out of reach of even his valor; for she was surrounded by fire, and only he who could pass through the blaze could win her.
Merrily, Siegfried replied that he would go through the flame and bring the bride to Gunther if he might have in payment Gutrune for his wife.
And the two heroes went through a ceremony, very binding in those days, which was called the Oath of Brotherhood. It meant that they must remain as faithful to each other as though they were really brothers, and that should one prove false to his vow the other would have the right to kill him.
Then the two entered the boat and went away down the Rhine, Siegfried to take Gunther’s shape, with the aid of the Tarnhelm, and go through the fire to win the maiden; Gunther to wait on the banks of the Rhine until Siegfried brought him the bride, and then took his own shape once more.
Hagen, left alone in the hall, mused deeply as night drew near.
“Siegfried, unknowing, brings his own bride to the Rhine. He brings me the Ring!” He paused, and then continued, in tones of bitter scorn: “Little as I deem you all, you brave partners and happy companions—small as you are, and as I hold your natures—you still may serve the need of the Nibelung’s son!”
Motif of the Love-Potion
Motif of the Magic-fire Circle
CHAPTER II
THE WALKÜRES’ ROCK ONCE MORE
As afternoon darkened into evening Brünnhilde sat on her high rock looking at the Ring on her finger with loving eyes, and thinking tenderly of the hero who had placed it there, and who was perhaps, even then, leaving the paths of men to come to her side once more.
Suddenly a flash of lightning appeared across the sky and a clap of thunder sounded far away. Strange sounds broke the stillness, sounds well remembered by her: the hoofs of wind-horses speeding through the clouds, the whistling of rushing blasts, the ring of steel armor. Starting up in wild excitement, she saw a black thunder-cloud rushing towards the rock.
“Brünnhilde! Sister! Are you asleep or awake?” called the clear voice of one of the warrior goddesses, as a war-horse sprang to earth from the midst of the clouds.
With a cry of joy Brünnhilde ran to meet the Walküre, saying:
“Waltraute, truest sister, welcome!” and asking tenderly about the rest of the maidens and her father Wotan.
But Waltraute was sad and anxious, and seemed in fearful haste. She interrupted Brünnhilde’s passionate description of her hero and her happiness in his love by sad words of the gloom that reigned in Walhalla. She told the story of the hewing of the World-Ash, the fagots piled high about the great palace; of the gods and heroes assembled in awe. She spoke of Wotan sitting in silence holding his broken spear in his hand.
She said that once, and once only, had he spoken, and that he had then said: “When the Rhine daughters gain from Brünnhilde the Ring the world will be released from the power of the spell.”
Waltraute begged Brünnhilde to give her the Ring, so that she, Waltraute, might carry it to the Rhine Maidens.
“If you wish, you may ward off the shadow of the gods,” said the Walküre, kneeling at her sister’s feet. But Brünnhilde looked at her as though in a trance.
“Like a sorrowful dream it seems—this that you tell me. I do not understand it. I am no longer one of the gods. You, pale sister—what have you to do with me?”
Passionately, Waltraute asked for the Ring which she wore, but Brünnhilde replied that it was Siegfried’s love-gift, and that she would never give it up. Again Waltraute besought her, for the sake of the gods, the bright mighty gods, who were going to destruction, to give up the magic circlet.
Brünnhilde answered quietly that she prized love more than the welfare of all the gods, and that the Ring was dearer to her than the palace of Walhalla; and she bade Waltraute be gone, refusing once for all to give up Siegfried’s gift.
“Woe! woe!” wailed the Walküre, speeding wildly away. “Woe for you, sister! Woe for the gods in Walhalla! Woe!”
She was gone, amid thunder and rushing winds.
Sitting again on the rock alone, Brünnhilde looked down to where the guarding fire-circle burned brighter and brighter. A horn-call sounded in the distance.
“Siegfried!” cried Brünnhilde, rushing forward.
But who was that who sprang from out the fire and stood before her? Not Siegfried, surely, but some stranger—a stranger with face partly masked by a curious helmet of some sort.
No wonder that she did not recognize her hero in the man before her, who, by the aid of the Tarnhelm, bore the semblance of Gunther, the Gibichung. He told her that he had come to take her away with him and marry her; and when she ordered him to yield before the strength of the mighty Ring on her finger, he caught her hand and tore the circlet from it, placing it on his own.
“Now yield to me! You must be my wife,” he commanded; and, weak and powerless, Brünnhilde was conquered and led away by the warrior, who was none other than Siegfried—had she but known it!—Siegfried, her hero, who did not remember her at all, and only looked upon her as the bride of his brother-hero Gunther, the bride that must be delivered safely into the real Gibichung’s hand.
BRÜNNHILDE AND SIEGFRIED
For Siegfried cared nothing for her himself, and thought only of the fair maiden down in the great hall built upon the shore of the Rhine—Gutrune, the lady of the Gibichungs.
And that was how the Nibelung’s spell again brought sorrow and misery to the wearer of the Rhinegold’s Ring.
Tarnhelm Motif
Gutrune Motif
Motif of Revenge
CHAPTER III
THE RHINE CHIEF’S BRIDE
It was night on the Rhine. Hagen sat asleep before the hall of the Gibichungs, leaning against a pillar. Before him crouched his Nibelung father, Alberich, who had come to speak with him through his dreams.
They spoke of the Rhinegold in mysterious undertones, Hagen in the voice of one who talks in sleep. They spoke of the Dusk of the Gods which drew near so quickly, and of the might which would be theirs when the Ring fell into their hands. And until dawn came they concocted plots deep and cruel.
Then the Nibelung’s small, dark figure disappeared in a pale mist, and all that was left of him was the echo of his voice, as he called, faintly, while vanishing:
“Be true, Hagen, my son; be true! Be true! True!” The voice died away into silence.
As the dawn broke and the rising sun was mirrored brightly in the Rhine, Hagen awoke with a start. At the same moment Siegfried appeared, saying that he had hastened to the hall of the Gibichungs with the aid of the Tarnhelm, leaving Gunther and his bride to follow in a barge up the Rhine.
As Gutrune came out to meet him, he hailed her exultantly, saying that he had won her as wife when he brought the wild mountain-maid to her brother. He told her and Hagen the tale of how he had gone through the fire and found the woman within the enchanted circle, and had conquered her, and had brought her to Gunther, who had waited at the foot of the mountain. The only thing that he did not tell them was that he had torn the Ring from the woman’s finger, and so vanquished her. Strange to say, he had forgotten that as completely as he had forgotten his old love for Brünnhilde and his first journey through the fire. Now, when he looked at the bright circlet on his finger, he remembered that it was one which he had obtained at Hate Hole, but had forgotten that it had ever left his hand. So that was the beginning of more sorrow.
Siegfried and Gutrune went into the hall together, and Hagen called the vassals about him from far and wide to welcome the bride to her new home on the Rhine. When the barge came slowly up the river, strong warriors plunged into the water to meet it, and dragged the boat close to the shore. From the hall came Gutrune, full of welcome and kindness. For you know she had no idea it was Brünnhilde whom she had caused the hero to forget, and she was really glad to greet her brother’s bride. At her side walked Siegfried, and they were followed by innumerable women who had come trooping out to behold the new lady of the Gibichungs.
But, as Gunther led his pale, sad bride from the boat, she suddenly stood still, trembling and shuddering, and staring with wild, bewildered eyes at Siegfried. Her voice shook and her face was as white as death as she asked how he came there with Gutrune; and when he showed that he had totally forgotten her and looked upon her only as Gunther’s bride, she staggered and sank into the young hero’s arms, whispering, faintly and sorrowfully:
“Siegfried knows me not!”
Calling to Gunther to come near, the Volsung pointed to him and bade poor Brünnhilde arouse herself, for the great chief’s sake. But, as Siegfried stretched out his hand, she saw the Ring, and, starting wildly up, asked furiously how he came by it—saying that Gunther had torn it from her on the Walküres’ rock, and demanding of Gunther why he had given it to Siegfried.
Now, of course, the Rhine Chief had never even seen the Ring, and thought, not unnaturally, that Siegfried had taken it from Brünnhilde and then kept it for himself from a feeling of greed and a desire to possess it. The young hero, when questioned, merely answered that it was one he had found at Hate Hole, and that he had won it from no woman, but a monster worm which he had killed. And he thought that he was telling the whole truth, for it was all that he could remember.
But Brünnhilde, who knew nothing of the magic-potion, saw in his words the deepest and most terrible deceit, and she burst into such rage and despair that Siegfried declared that he would try to satisfy her by swearing the Spear-Oath.
So Hagen held out his spear, and Siegfried placed his hand upon the point and declared by the haft of war that he had never harmed the woman, or been for a moment false to Gunther, and bade that very spear bring him death if he had.
Breaking into the circle which the warriors made around Siegfried, Brünnhilde declared him a traitor and deceiver, and called down the vengeance of the gods upon his head.
For her heart was broken, poor Brünnhilde! and she hardly knew what she said or did; so that when Siegfried and the others ceased trying to pacify her and left her alone with Gunther and Hagen, and when the latter crept up to her and said that he would avenge her wrongs and kill the hero who had made her love him and had then deserted her, she told him how to do it. She said that she had placed divine spells of protection upon every part of his body except his back.
“For I knew,” said Brünnhilde, with momentary tenderness, “that he was too brave to ever, in flight, turn that to an enemy.”
“At his back shall my spear-point strike!” said Hagen, exultantly. “In his back shall he be wounded unto death!”
Raising her arms towards the sky, Brünnhilde broke into wild, passionate words of revenge. For she had almost lost her reason through the shock of sorrow at finding Siegfried false to her, and she declared that that was the sacrifice that was needed to lift the sorrow off so many hearts; that was the one great deed that must bring relief after so much misery. Earth and heaven cried aloud for one thing, she said—Siegfried’s death.
GUNTHER AND BRÜNNHILDE
As she stood, almost transfigured by her own words, sounds of joy and merriment drew near, and the wedding procession of Siegfried and Gutrune passed by. Gunther caught Brünnhilde’s hand and drew her into the crowd of men and women, and she passed on with the other bridal couple to be married.
Loudly and merrily rang the laughter, and the sounds of festivity rose high. But Hagen, like a dark, evil spirit, laughed, because he seemed at last so near to his desires.
Motif of the Rhine-Maidens’ Prophecy
Fate Motif
CHAPTER IV
ON THE BANKS OF THE RHINE
Where the steep rocks led down to the river Rhine, and the low shrubs grew in green luxuriance, where the wildest part of the wild forest was mirrored in the water, came the three water-fairies, Woglinde, Flosshilde, and Wellgunde, to sing in the quiet, golden light of the late afternoon. They sang sorrowfully and regretfully of their lost treasure; they circled like wind-ripples upon the surface of the Rhine, and tossed the bright drops of water about with a soft, splashing sound as of tiny bells. The river murmured like a harp lightly played upon by fairy fingers, and the voices of the nymphs were as sweet as the tones of the wind moving through the rushes.
To this lovely, magic-haunted spot came Siegfried, looking for a bear which he had wounded during a hunt, and had tracked through the woods. The nymphs began to talk to him, and as he answered merrily they drew nearer to the rock where he stood, telling him that they would see that he found his bear if he would, in payment, give them the Ring that he wore upon his finger.
Laughingly, he answered that he had slain a dragon before he could obtain that Ring, and that it would be foolish to give it up now for the sake of a bear.
After a few more merry words the nymphs became suddenly serious. Rising together to the surface of the water, they raised their arms towards him and spoke solemn words of prophecy. They told him that sadness awaited him; that the Ring would bring him nothing but ill-hap; that it was made of the stolen Rhinegold, and that a spell had been laid upon it that brought sorrow and death to whoever possessed it.
“As the monster worm fell,” said the Rhine Maidens, slowly, “so will you fall—and soon! Give it to us, that we may hide it in the river! For that alone can break the spell.”
And, as Siegfried laughingly shook his head, they continued to plead still more earnestly. They bade him avoid the spell, saying that its history had been woven into the Norns’ great rope; that it must be shunned and feared. But Siegfried scoffed at the Norns and the rope, and said that Fafner had warned him of this danger long ago; that he had no fear of his life, and would freely fling that away.
“Farewell, Siegfried!” said the Rhine Maidens, as they turned to leave him. “A stately woman will soon possess your circlet. She will better do our bidding. Let us go to her!”
They swam swiftly away, leaving Siegfried laughing on the shore. For he thought nothing of their words, believing their prophecies to have been threats because he would not give them what they wished.
Laughing still, he blew a long call on his horn, which was answered on all sides by the other hunters, who soon made their appearance, most of them carrying game of some sort—bear or deer; and Hagen, who was one of the first to come into the little glen down by the Rhine, made sport of Siegfried, because he, the best hunter of them all, had no booty to show for his day’s sport.
Siegfried laughingly told them about the three Rhine Maidens who had warned him of his approaching death; and Gunther, moving apart from the others with a curious shadow and sadness on his face, started terribly, while Hagen merely laughed a harsh, revengeful laugh.
Gunther did not forget his Oath of Brotherhood; and, though he believed that Siegfried had deceived him, he hated to harm him, or allow him to be harmed, without better cause. He shuddered and shook his head when the young hero brought him the horn of wine. The rest of the hunters flung themselves down under the trees, and drank merrily and rested in the deepening golden light of the afternoon, but Gunther sat apart from them, gloomy and silent, like one who dreamed sad dreams, and could not arouse himself.
At last, Siegfried, noticing his depression, said that he would tell him the story of his boyhood, if it would amuse and cheer him.
And sitting down on the stump of a great tree, with his shield and weapons at his feet, and on all sides the warriors listening eagerly to his words, the young Volsung began his tale, and Hagen stood near, leaning on his spear, a look of grim expectation on his dark face.
It was of Mime that Siegfried spoke first, Mime and the life in the cave; the forging of Nothung, and finally the journey to Hate Hole, and the slaying of the monster worm, Fafner.
He told how the Dragon’s blood had given him power to understand the language of birds; and, as he spoke, memories of the soft woodland voices and the rustling of the trees passed tenderly across his mind. He told of the winning of the Rhinegold Ring and the Tarnhelm, of the treachery of Mime, and of how he had killed him with Nothung.
Then he paused, for Hagen came up to him with a drinking-horn filled with wine, which he bade him swallow, saying it would help to clear his memory. Siegfried raised it to his lips and drank, and Hagen stood near, leaning on his spear, and smiling grimly. For the wine had in it something that would, indeed, bring back the young hero’s memory, and Hagen knew that, when he remembered Brünnhilde, he would be as one deaf and blind to all else, and would so prove an easy victim.
HAGEN AND SIEGFRIED
Siegfried put down the drinking-horn, and, after a moment’s silence, resumed his tale, while the memory of the forest sounds passed softly and constantly across his brain. He told, in tender tones, how the bird had sung to him of a glorious bride sleeping amid fire far away; and of how he had passed through the enchanted flame-circle, and, with a kiss, awakened her from her long sleep; and he spoke her name with such love and tenderness that even Hagen’s wicked heart should have been touched for a moment; but he only stood leaning on his spear and smiling—always smiling—as one smiles who has knowledge greater than his fellows.
Gunther started up wildly as Siegfried whispered the name of “Brünnhilde”; for the Rhine Chief understood all now, and realized in that short time what deep wickedness it must have been that had parted the noble Volsung and his bride. There had been no deceit, no treachery, no broken Oath of Brotherhood—none of the wickedness had been on the young hero’s side. Gunther dropped his head in horror.
But Hagen took a step forward.
“See you those Ravens?” he said, slowly, pointing to two great black birds flying upward from the Rhine. They were Wotan’s King-Ravens, which had been sent out to bring tidings back to Walhalla, and which were returning there with news that the Dusk of the Gods was at hand. Siegfried turned to gaze after them as they flew. It was growing late. The yellow afternoon light was deepening to red gold. The sun was setting. The Ravens flew away, their broad black wings bathed in the ruddy light, and it was like the light of a great fire.
“They arouse in me revenge!” cried Hagen, and he raised his spear and stabbed the young Volsung in the back. Siegfried staggered wildly; and then, raising his shield, tried to crush Hagen with it. But then even his great strength left him, and he fell back upon the ground, while the warriors drew near with exclamations of horror and faces on which a great awe had fallen.
“I have been revenged,” said Hagen, and passed up the rocks and out of sight amid the growing dusk. The sunset was as red as blood now. There was an ominous look in its lurid light—yet a strange peace also. It lay on the head and figure of the young hero like a king’s crown and robe.
AFTER SIEGFRIED’S DEATH
In the hush that had fallen, Siegfried raised himself upon his arm and spoke.
He spoke of Brünnhilde, his bride; again he seemed to be on the Walküres’ rock; again she lay before him asleep; again he awakened her with a kiss. He seemed to look into her eyes, to hear her voice; she was his once more.
And with the words “Brünnhilde beckons to me! Greeting!” Siegfried sank back and died. And the last light from the setting sun went out of the sky.
It was very dark—very dark and silent. The warriors raised the hero upon their shoulders and bore him up the rocks. After a while the moon rose, and the pale light touched the helmets of the men and Siegfried’s armor as the procession passed up through the shadows. A mist was rising from the Rhine, and it was very still.
Siegfried was dead, the last of his race—the noble race of Volsungs. He was the bravest of them all, this son of Siegmund and Sieglinde, who had so loved each other. He had done many great deeds with his good sword Nothung. He had been a courageous man and the highest hero in the world, and he had won the love of Brünnhilde, the noblest woman ever born. And he was dead—Siegfried, the Volsung.
Death Motif
Motif of the Dusk of the Gods
CHAPTER V
THE LAST TWILIGHT
Alone through the great hall of the Gibichungs wandered Gutrune, awaiting Siegfried’s return from the hunt. Going to Brünnhilde’s chamber in the hope of finding a companion in her anxiety, she saw that the room was empty, and remembered that she had seen, some time before, a woman’s figure descend towards the Rhine. As she thought of her brother’s wild, strange bride, Gutrune shuddered. She moved restlessly about the hall, listening for the clear horn-call that always heralded the coming of the Volsung.
Suddenly, Hagen appeared with a look of triumph on his dark, evil face; and, directly afterwards, many people came running, in wild confusion, carrying torches, and lamenting the hero’s death. And, finally, came the warriors bearing Siegfried upon a great bier.
With wails of anguish, Gutrune flung herself on her knees beside her hero, and pushed Gunther away wildly when he strove to comfort her, calling him the murderer of her husband.
But Gunther denied the charge, and pointed to Hagen, accusing him, in heart-broken tones, of having slain their hero. Hagen answered, with calm defiance, that he had, indeed, killed Siegfried, and that he now demanded as booty the Ring that gleamed upon the finger of the Volsung.
Fiercely, Gunther claimed the circlet for his sister, as widow’s dower. Hagen sprang forward to attack him, and the half-brothers fought wildly together for the Rhinegold Ring. At last, with an exultant gesture, Hagen raised his sword above his head; for, at his feet lay Gunther, the Gibichung—dead.
“The Ring!” cried the Nibelung’s son, and he sprang to the bier. But, ere he could touch Siegfried’s hand where gleamed the circlet, it raised itself threateningly. And even Hagen started back in terror. On all sides people trembled with fear and horror. Gutrune screamed wildly as her eyes encountered her brother’s body on the ground.
Into this place of sorrow and confusion came a tall woman, robed in white, with a face most beautiful in its gentleness and strength; and before so calm and tender a gaze the crowd parted, as though in awe, to let the woman pass.
It was Brünnhilde, who had heard from the water-maidens everything that had happened on the shores of the Rhine. She understood all now. She understood that he had never been false, knowingly; that his last loving words had been of her—and her alone. And she had come, with her great wisdom and her great love, to bring peace to the turbulent hearts gathered about Siegfried’s bier.
She stood for a long time gazing down on the face of her hero—“The highest hero of worlds,” she called him. She looked around her and smiled upon the confusion and sorrow, and, before the tenderness and solemn sweetness of that smile, the confusion seemed to die away and the sorrow seemed but as something too small to be shown.
Piteously, Gutrune sobbed out words of regret for the wrong which had been done Brünnhilde, and reproached Hagen for his share in the plot. But Brünnhilde hardly heard.
In slow, solemn tones, she ordered a funeral pyre to be lighted on the banks of the Rhine, and, bending over Siegfried, she spoke tenderly of his love and of his nobility and truth.
Then, turning away, she raised her arms on high and broke into sublime words, in which she reproached Wotan for his wrath, and added that already his Ravens were on their way to Walhalla to carry the long-deferred tidings of the last Twilight—so close at hand.
“Rest! Rest! O gods!” she said, softly, and paused. She turned towards Siegfried again and drew the Ring from his finger. Then she spoke to the three invisible Rhine children, and told them to take the circlet from her ashes when she had been burned with her hero.
The pyre was erected now, and Siegfried’s body had been placed upon it. Grani was led in, and Brünnhilde laid her arm upon his neck tenderly, and spoke of the warrior who was dead and of the leap into the flames they were both about to take. Wildly, she seized a torch and lighted the pyre; and, as the flames rose high, she sprang upon the horse’s back and raised him for a leap.
“Siegfried! Siegfried! See!” she cried—and her voice echoed both far and near. “Gladly greets thee thy bride!”
Into the flames sprang Grani, the stanch war-horse, and the Walküre was gone from the eyes of men forever. But, behold! Her deed brought release from the sin and sorrow of many years.
The flames, rising high and higher, made a great fiery wall between the earth and sky. The Rhine Maidens swam up to the shore and caught a bright circlet lying near in the midst of a heap of ashes. Hagen, springing after it, was lost in the Rhine’s rushing waters forever.
But now a wonderful sight met the gaze of the awe-stricken people crouching in the hall of the Gibichungs.
In the high heavens, Walhalla’s stately towers appeared in a bright ring of fire. The fagots made from the World-Ash had at last caught fire. Dimly could be seen the great array of gods and heroes awaiting the Last Twilight, and the end.
Wildly, and still more wildly, leaped the flames. Walhalla was surrounded with red fire—it could no longer be seen. A fearful light glowed upon earth and heaven.
Lo! the Dusk of the Gods was come.
And that was how the Last Twilight came to Walhalla, and how Brünnhilde lifted the spell off the world and expiated the old sins of so many years before.
And that was how the Golden Age came to an end, and a better and nobler era of truth and happiness reigned upon the earth.
So the enchanted Rhinegold came back to the hands of its first guardians—the maidens of the river; and, after great sorrow and turmoil, there was at last peace.
Motif of Brünnhilde’s Expiation
FINIS