Stories from the Operas

by Gladys Davidson

TRISTAN AND ISOLDA

In the glorious days of chivalry, when King Arthur and his knights were gaining honour and renown by their noble deeds, a stately barque might have been seen one golden noon-tide swiftly approaching the shores of Cornwall. Tristan, a valiant Cornish knight, far-famed for his prowess and untarnished honour, was bringing the beautiful Princess Isolda of Ireland as a bride for his uncle, King Mark, who held his Court at Tyntagel, in Cornwall; and as they drew near to their native shores, the ruddy sailors broke forth into a glad song of greeting, rejoicing at the safe conclusion of their honourable mission.

But there was no joy in the heart of Tristan, who stood at the helm, silent and full of gloom. For he, himself, loved this fair Princess of Ireland; but a dark blood-feud between them had forced him to stifle his own passion, and to secure her as a bride for another.

And a tumult was also raging in the heart of the proud Isolda, for she resented the alliance that had been made for her, and was filled with anger against the knight who came as ambassador to bear her away. For they had met before, these two, and a dread secret lay between them.

For many years there had been war between Ireland and Cornwall, and at last the King of Ireland had felt himself powerful enough to claim tribute from King Mark.

Morold, the cousin and lover of Isolda, was sent to levy the tax; but he met with a sorry reception.

For Tristan, the nephew and bravest knight of King Mark, indignantly resented the claim, and challenged Morold to mortal combat on the shore; and, to his joy, he defeated and slew the Irish knight, whose head was sent back as the only tribute the subjects of King Mark would pay to Ireland.

But Tristan, himself, had also been grievously wounded by his adversary; and after searching in vain for a healer for his hurts, he crawled into a small boat and set it adrift in his feverish despair. The wind and waves bore the frail craft far out from the coast, and at last the wounded knight found himself cast upon the shores of Ireland.

Here he was hospitably received by the Irish King and his beautiful daughter, to whom he gave his name as Tantris; and the Princess Isolda, being greatly skilled in leech-craft, and famous for her knowledge of balsams and simples, set herself the task of healing the stranger's wounds. His noble appearance and pitiful plight soon won her heart, and Tristan, loving the fair princess directly he beheld her, was quick to vow fealty to her.

But one day, as Isolda sat watching beside the couch of her charge, she noticed in the sick man's discarded sword a curiously-shaped notch, which exactly fitted a splinter of steel that had been found imbedded in the skull of Morold, whose head had lately arrived from Cornwall as a ghastly token of defeat and defiance.

Knowing now that it was the world-renowned Tristan, the bold defier and enemy of Ireland, the slayer of her cousin and former lover, Morold, who lay before her, and whom she had nursed so tenderly, Isolda was filled with scorn and anger; and seizing the tell-tale sword in her hand, she rushed furiously forward, intending to plunge it in his heart. But Tristan's eyes met hers in such a pleading, helpless glance that the angry princess was quickly filled with pity, and felt she could not harm him as he lay thus in feebleness; and letting the sword drop gently to the ground, she crushed her revengeful feelings, and continued her nursing of the sick man. Yet Tristan did not dare to speak of love to her again, feeling that Isolda would now regard his slaying of Morold as a blood-feud and barrier between them; and as soon as his wounds were sufficiently healed, he returned to Cornwall.

Soon after this, peace was declared between the two countries; and as the crowning pledge of the truce, King Mark was persuaded by his knights to ask the hand of the Princess Isolda in marriage. Tristan joined heartily in pressing forward this plan; for, believing that Isolda was now lost to him, he felt that he could reward her best for her kindness to him by making her Queen of Cornwall.

But King Mark was growing old, and, being childless, had decided to make Tristan his heir: and it was not until his beloved nephew himself added his entreaties to the desires of the courtiers that he at length gave consent. Then, when peace and friendship had been sworn by both nations, and the King of Ireland had willingly agreed to bestow his daughter upon King Mark as the pledge of their truce, Tristan was despatched in a gilded barge to conduct the lovely bride to her new home.

Isolda submitted to her father's will with due filial obedience and reverence; but her heart was filled with scorn and hot anger against the brave knight she had nursed back to life and health. As she now reclined in her curtained recess within the stately vessel that bore her so swiftly away from her native land, she declared passionately to her attendant handmaid, Brangæna, that she had been betrayed by Tristan; for after vowing fealty to her in Ireland, he had but returned to demand her in marriage for his kinsman. Brangæna, alarmed at this outburst, attempted to sooth her mistress's angry feelings by assuring her that Sir Tristan had doubtless meant to show his gratitude by making her Queen of Cornwall; and she added that King Mark, though advancing in years, was good and noble in disposition, and worthy of admiration and regard.

But Isolda gazed impatiently beyond the curtains at the silent, motionless figure of Tristan, wondering sadly how she could support a loveless life so near that glorious knight, who now seemed so indifferent to her; for Tristan, struggling to repress the love in his heart, had kept sternly aloof from his fair charge throughout the voyage, fearing to trust himself in her presence. This seeming unkindness and studied coldness enraged the proud and unhappy princess to such a pitch that she determined they should die together before landing in Cornwall; and she sent Brangæna to the helm to command Tristan's immediate presence in her recess.

At first Tristan refused to leave the helm, remembering his duty and loyalty to his royal uncle; but when, just as they were approaching the shore, Isolda sent another message, imperiously declaring that she would not land in Cornwall unless he sought her pardon first, the trembling knight was forced to yield to her request.

Isolda meanwhile opened her casket of drugs and simples, saying she desired a potion that would cure her of all her woes; and selecting a phial containing a deadly poison, she bade Brangæna pour it out into a golden cup.

But Brangæna was horror-struck; and, determined to save her beloved mistress from the consequences of so rash a resolve, she poured away the poison, unseen by Isolda, and filled the golden cup instead with a love-philtre that the Queen of Ireland, skilled in sorcery, had placed in the casket for her daughter to drink with her husband on her wedding-night.

When Tristan appeared within the recess, Isolda began to pour forth bitter words of reproach upon him, declaring that though she had preserved his life when he lay in feebleness before her, she had still sworn vengeance upon him; and then, offering him the golden cup, she bade him drink its contents with her as a final truce to all their strife. The ship was by this time at the landing-stage, where King Mark already stood with his lords, waiting to receive the lovely bride; and, full of despair, Tristan took the proffered cup and began to drink.

When he had swallowed half the draught, Isolda snatched the goblet from his trembling hand and drank the remainder; and then the two stood and gazed into each other's eyes in wonder and bewilderment. For the strange potion was coursing wildly through their veins like a fiery stream, changing all their dull despair into the glow of passion, and filling their hearts with uncontrollable love and desire for each other; and at last, utterly powerless to fight against the ecstasy within them, they fell into each other's arms, overcome by a rapture they could not quell.

Brangæna, terror-stricken at the dire result of her fond deed, implored the lovers to recollect their duty and the scene that was going on around them, for all their lords and attendants were now waiting for Tristan to conduct his royal charge to King Mark.

But the pair seemed wrapped in a sweet dream from which the joyous cries of greeting gradually awakened them; and then, when they realised what had happened, they were filled with despair, and Isolda sank back half-fainting into Tristan's outstretched arms.

But Brangæna, eager to prevent the immediate discovery of their hapless love, quickly roused her mistress, and hung upon her shoulders the gorgeous royal mantle that had been provided for her nuptials; and then Tristan, as in a trance, with woe in his heart, led his beloved one forth from the ship, and delivered her into the hands of his Sovereign.

Isolda and King Mark were immediately wedded, amidst great rejoicings; but although the unhappy victims of the fatal love-potion had strength to loyally fulfil this pledge of peace between the two countries, they could not long keep their devouring passion within bounds. With the help of the devoted and remorseful Brangæna, they frequently met in secret, and the rapture of these stolen interviews was as balm to their bleeding hearts, the one sweet chain that kept them still bound to life.

But Tristan had an enemy, a knight named Melot, who, under the disguise of friendship, had gained his confidence and learnt the secret of his hopeless passion, and who, having no real love for the man he called his friend, determined to use this woeful secret for his own base ends. For Melot was jealous of the renown and noble qualities of Tristan, and longed to supplant him in the regard of his royal master; and having now discovered a weapon to his hand in the secret confided to him by the unsuspecting knight, he eagerly sought an opportunity for betraying him, and quickly found one.

Having persuaded the King to arrange a royal hunt one beautiful summer night, the crafty Melot easily induced Tristan to remain behind, and so secure a long, sweet interview with his beloved Isolda; but the false friend gaily joined in the chase, intending to return in a short time with the King to entrap the lovers.

When the hunting party had departed into the depths of the forest, and the merry sounds of the horns could only be heard in the far distance, Isolda crept forth from the silent castle, followed by her faithful handmaid; and bidding Brangæna keep watch near the forest, she flung a lighted torch to the ground, this being the signal for Tristan's approach. She then ran down the steps towards a moonlit avenue, and in another moment the lovers were clasped in each other's arms.

It was a moment of intense joy; and as the enraptured pair reclined together upon a mossy bank studded with sleeping flowers, they poured out to each other, in tenderest phrases, the passionate love they were compelled to keep pent within their hearts before the eyes of the world. It was midnight; but the happy lovers cared naught for time, and would gladly have remained in such sweet converse for ever.

But suddenly there was a cry from Brangæna, who rushed wildly forward, declaring that they were betrayed; and next moment, King Mark and a few of his lords broke hastily into the avenue, having been led to the spot by Melot, who had found an opportunity during the hunt to inform his royal master of the lovers' intended meeting.

At first King Mark had refused to believe that his noblest and best-beloved knight could thus betray his honour; but as he stepped into the avenue, and the living proof of it met his gaze, he was filled with deepest grief, and began to pour forth bitter reproaches upon the wretched Tristan, who vainly endeavoured to hide Isolda's shrinking form from the scornful gaze of the courtiers.

Stung by the just reproaches of the King, and enraged at the cruel treachery of his false friend, Tristan drew his sword and challenged Melot to fight; and in his despair, caring little to defend himself, he allowed his adversary to overcome him, and soon fell to the ground mortally wounded.

Isolda was borne back fainting to the castle, followed by King Mark and his courtiers; and Tristan was carried, in a dying condition, on board a vessel by his faithful henchman, Kurvenal, who quickly set sail for Brittany, where his master owned a castle overlooking the sea.

Here the sick man was at length placed in safety by Kurvenal, who endeavoured to restore him to health; but finding that his beloved master's wounds were too serious for him to heal, and that he grew worse instead of better, the poor henchman was in despair. At last he bethought him to send for Isolda herself, whom he knew to be greatly skilled in leech-craft; and thinking only of his master's physical needs, he despatched a messenger in a swift vessel, to entreat the beautiful Queen to come and heal her almost dying lover.

For several days after, Tristan remained in an unconscious state; but upon being brought out into an open courtyard one sunny noon-tide, he awoke from his torpor, and feebly asked for Isolda. Kurvenal answered that he had sent for her to come with healing balsams for his wounds; and, running to the walls, he exclaimed joyfully that the vessel was even now returning with Isolda on board.

Tristan was overjoyed at this glad news, and when Kurvenal presently went to receive the welcome guest at the castle gates, the wounded man's excitement knew no bounds. In his eagerness to see his beloved one once again, he endeavoured to crawl from the couch; but the effort of moving caused his terrible wounds to open afresh, and just as Isolda rushed through the gateway, he uttered her name with a gasping cry of joy, and fell back dead upon the couch.

Isolda, with a loud shriek of woe, fell fainting upon his prostrate body, and at that moment Kurvenal was hailed by a second vessel that had immediately followed in the wake of the first. On this barque were King Mark with his knights, and also Brangæna; and quickly surmising that they were come with hostile intentions, the brave henchman barricaded the entrance to the castle, and refused admittance to the newcomers, who had instantly landed.

Then when the eager knights, by their superior force, broke through the gateway, Kurvenal sprang furiously upon them and fought desperately, in spite of their cries that they came in peace. The first to enter was the traitor, Melot, and with a cry of triumph, Kurvenal thrust him through the heart. Then receiving a mortal wound himself, the faithful henchman crawled to the couch of the dead Tristan, and feeling for his beloved master's hand, he sank, dying, at his feet.

King Mark and his party now rushed forward, unhindered; and Brangæna, raising her still breathing mistress in her arms, besought her to revive, since she had come with good news for her. For upon the flight of Isolda to the aid of Tristan, Brangæna had, in desperation, sought King Mark, and told him of how, quite unconsciously, Tristan and Isolda had swallowed the magic potion that had made them lovers for life; and, rejoicing to learn that his best-loved knight and beautiful Queen were thus free from blame, since they were powerless to fight against the mighty philtre, the noble-hearted King was filled with pity for the sufferings they had endured. He resolved generously to renounce Isolda, and permit the unhappy lovers to be united; and immediately entering his ship, he had followed with Brangæna and his knights in the wake of the flying Queen.

But the vessel had arrived too late, for Tristan was already dead; and full of grief, King Mark knelt, weeping, at the foot of the couch. And it was in vain that Brangæna tried to raise the quivering form of her beloved mistress; for Isolda's heart was broken, and with a last despairing cry, she fell back lifeless to the ground.

Thus had the magic philtre wrought destruction; and in death only were the lovers united.

THE MASTERSINGERS OF NUREMBERG
(Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg)

After the decay of the knightly court poetry of the Minnesingers, whose pure and noble art had been inspired and encouraged by the age of chivalry in which they lived, the spontaneous love of song, natural to the character of the German people, was lost for a time in the gloom and ignorance of the dark Middle Ages; but, later on, when the Reformation had once more lighted the way to knowledge and culture, the beautiful art was revived by guilds of musical enthusiasts, known as The Mastersingers.

But the dramatic, chivalric conception of life, which had been the prevailing spirit of the Minnesingers of old, all of whom had been of noble birth and exercised their art in the courts of kings, never quite returned; for the Mastersingers, being but humble burghers and artisans, could not attain to such courtly grace of expression, and their art was naturally of a stiffer and more pedantic character. Yet they did excellent work, establishing schools and guilds of poetry and song in most of the principal towns of Germany; but by hedging themselves in by narrow rules and conventions, they left little margin for the soaring spirit of true genius, which ever chafes at petty restraints, and insists on freedom of fancy.

In Nuremberg, the Mastersingers attained to the greatest excellence of their class; and in the middle of the sixteenth century there flourished in this community, the simple-minded, large-hearted Hans Sachs, the truest poet of his time, whose broad views were in refreshing contrast to the dull and cramped conceptions of art held by most of the Mastersingers.

It was during the time when Hans Sachs was a leader amongst the celebrated Mastersingers of Nuremberg, that this story opens; and upon St. John's Eve in a certain year, he and his musical friends were called upon to undergo a new and exciting experience in the pursuit of their beloved art.

Veit Pogner, a goldsmith, and the wealthiest of the older Mastersingers, impelled by an enthusiastic love of art, had just offered the hand of his beautiful daughter, Eva, together with the inheritance of all his riches and worldly possessions, as a prize to the master musician who should gain the wreath of victory in the grand contest to be held on St. John's Day, in accordance with the usual custom.

Amongst the competing masters who felt most confident of success was Sixtus Beckmesser, the town clerk, who occupied the important office of marker in the society, an officer whose duty it was to mark on a slate the faults made against the established rules and regulations of the Guild. Beckmesser, though without talent, and no longer young, nor even possessed of any pleasing personal charms, was so conceited that he fancied none to be his equal in music and poetry; and in spite of the fact that Eva was to have power to refuse the prize-winner, should he prove distasteful to her, he yet felt assured of success, though the maiden had never shown signs of favour to him.

As a matter of fact, Eva had already fixed her affections upon a young knight, one Sir Walter von Stolzing, who, being descended from the old Minnesingers, whose glorious achievements he had read of and studied, and in whom the truly poetic, romantic, and knightly art was revived, had left his now decaying ancestral hall, in order to find kindred spirits amongst the celebrated Mastersingers of music-loving Nuremberg; and having once been brought into contact with the soaring, enthusiastic spirit of this noble youth, she could never again be contented with the pedantic methods of the burgher Mastersingers.

Walter, having business relations with old Pogner in connection with his poverty-stricken estate, had thus made acquaintance with the goldsmith's fair daughter; and the exquisite soul-inspiring beauty and pure, sweet nature of this maiden having quickly kindled a consuming passion in his impetuous, romantic heart, and knowing that his love was returned, he determined to enter the ranks of the competitors on St. John's Day, since none but a Mastersinger could aspire to her hand, and trusted that his great love would enable his song to gain the victor's wreath.

For this reason, he repaired on St. John's Eve to the Church of St. Katherine, where the Mastersingers held their meetings, and requested to be admitted to the competition. He was greatly disconcerted on being informed by a lively young man named David, who was apprenticed to Hans Sachs the cobbler, that the musical guild was arranged as a trades' guild, with degrees of membership, such as apprentices, scholars, and singers, and that it was usual to spend at least a year in each degree before attaining to the rank of a "master"; and he was filled with impatience on hearing of the many petty rules and narrow restrictions in verse and song-making which were necessary to be observed ere he could hope to please the Mastersingers, who had absolute faith in their own standard of perfection, and refused to admit into their ranks any who failed to conform to the same, seven faults only against the rules being allowed to candidates for admission to their competitions.

Nevertheless, still believing in his own natural gifts, which he had cultivated in the beautiful woodlands of his birthplace, untrammelled by forms and conventions, when the Mastersingers had assembled, he requested permission to prove to them that he was a master of poetic song, and therefore justified in entering the competition on the morrow; and, since he was introduced to them by Pogner himself, who vouched for his good faith, he was invited to sing a song, though the Guild members were horrified on hearing that he had never studied in any Mastersinging guild, and had received no other instruction than that afforded by a love of Nature, and a natural poetic instinct fanned into being by reading accounts of the romantic Minnesingers of old.

Beckmesser, the marker, having pompously ensconced himself in his accustomed curtained recess, with slate and chalk to mark down the faults of the candidate, announced that he was ready to hear the young knight's trial; and Walter immediately burst forth into an enthusiastic song in praise of spring-time and maidenhood, so full of true poetry and music that it held the masters spellbound, in spite of the fact that it completely outraged all their pet rules in every direction.

But the conceited Beckmesser was full of indignation that one so unheedful of the forms and conventions of his own infallible guild should dare to aspire to enter the ranks of the Mastersingers; and before the song was half finished, he burst noisily from behind his curtain, and contemptuously announced that the candidate had already failed many times over, since his slate was scored at least fifty times with faults against the rules, the singer having had no regard at all for the special construction of verse and musical form which he and his friends alone considered to be correct.

The Mastersingers all agreed with the marker's condemnation, with the exception of Hans Sachs, who knew that Beckmesser's verdict was chiefly caused by jealousy; and he himself being the only true poet-musician in the Mastersingers' Guild, alone was able to appreciate Walter's beautiful song, and, seeing that the young knight had a real and lofty genius far beyond anything that his burgher friends could boast of, boldly stood up in his defence, declaring to the outraged company that the stranger's music was of a higher order than their own and consequently not to be judged by their standards, which might not be infallible after all.

But the Mastersingers were not to be convinced, even though their favourite Hans Sachs spoke in favour of the audacious stranger; and so Walter was declared "outsung" and in no way fit to be admitted into the ranks of the Mastersingers.

The young knight, repelled by the Mastersingers' narrow art, from which he had hoped to derive such pleasure, was filled with disappointment and despair; but, finding that he could not hope to gain the hand of his beloved Eva as a Mastersinger, he determined to make an attempt to elope with her that evening.

Eva, being anxious to learn how her lover had fared at his trial, sent her attendant, Magdalena, to get the news from her sweetheart, David, the apprentice of Hans Sachs; and then, upon returning at dusk from a walk with her father, she remained outside the house, to hear what her handmaid had to say. The two girls talked in low tones, for they saw that Hans Sachs (whose shop stood exactly opposite the house of the goldsmith) was still at work; for honest Hans, suspecting the young knight's intention with regard to Eva, had determined to frustrate his plans, in kindness to the imprudent pair, since he loved them both.

Eva was in despair when told by Magdalena of her lover's failure; but, seeing Walter at that moment approaching, she sent her maid within doors, and awaited him with a joy she could not conceal.

The lovers embraced rapturously; and Eva, enthralled by Walter's love for her, readily agreed to his passionate pleading that they should fly together that night. Ere they could make their escape, however, they heard approaching steps; and, hastily concealing themselves behind some bushes, they were forced to wait until the intruder should depart.

The newcomer was none other than Beckmesser, the conceited marker, who, having composed a song to sing at the contest on the morrow, had come now to sing it as a serenade beneath the window of the fair Eva, hoping that the maiden would be thus so favourably impressed by his composition, that she would speak in his favour when he was adjudged the winner, as he so fondly expected to be; and, stationing himself beneath his charmer's chamber window, he commenced his song, which was in reality a very poor one, consisting of inferior poetry and worse melody.

Hans Sachs, hoping now to deter Sir Walter and Eva from their rash act by keeping them in their hiding-place, at once began to sing himself in a very loud voice, to a rollicking tune and merry words; an unexpected performance which was naturally very disconcerting to the serenader.

In a furious rage at this wanton drowning of his sentimental song, with which he had intended to win the heart of Eva, Beckmesser many times shouted to the cobbler to hold his peace; but, finding that Hans refused to listen to his request he resorted to strategy in order to enable his fair mistress to hear his song undisturbed. Approaching the cobbler's shop, he invited Hans to listen to his song, and criticise it, that he might correct any faults there might be in the composition ere performing it on the morrow; and this the cobbler agreed to do, saying that for every fault he detected, he would hammer a nail into the pair of shoes he was at that moment mending for the town clerk, who had been blaming him earlier in the day for being behindhand with his work.

So Beckmesser began his song again, full of delight at observing a maiden's figure appear at the chamber window, imagining this to be his adored one, though it was in reality the waiting-maid, Magdalena, who was anxiously awaiting the return of her young mistress; but his rage was soon increased tenfold, for his halting verses were so full of faulty accents and unmusical discords, that the cobbler's hammer fell with a thud almost constantly. Ere the song was half over, Hans ran out of his shop, and, holding up the finished shoes in triumph, cried mischievously in imitation of the marker's own manner at the young knight's examination, "Haven't you done yet? Because I've finished the shoes already, thanks to the many faults you have made!"

As Beckmesser furiously endeavoured to scream out the last verses of his song, the apprentice David, disturbed by this unmusical squalling, opened his chamber-window; and, seeing his sweetheart, Magdalena, in the chamber opposite, and thinking the serenade addressed to her, he was seized with jealousy, and, rushing out into the street, set upon the bold serenader and began to cudgel him with right good will.

Taken thus by surprise, Beckmesser began to cry out for aid, for David was a lusty youth, and was quickly beating him black and blue; and, aroused by the sounds of the scuffle, the neighbours came pouring from the houses on every side, and not understanding the reason for the commotion, but stumbling in the dark against each other, they began to quarrel amongst themselves, and a general scrimmage quickly ensued, in which the mischievous apprentice friends of David gladly took part, enjoying the riot as a great joke.

Thinking that in the midst of this scuffle they might make their escape, Sir Walter tenderly endeavoured to lead Eva round the edge of the crowd; but Hans Sachs, who had kept his eyes constantly on the pair, soon frustrated this pretty plan by seizing Walter's arm in his own iron grasp, and at the same time pushing Eva up the steps of her father's house, where she was quickly seized and taken within by Pogner himself, who, having opened his door to inquire the cause of the scrimmage, was amazed to find his daughter in the midst of the crowd.

Having seen that the half-fainting Eva was safely in her father's care, Hans Sachs, having first caught David and unceremoniously kicked him into his shop, followed himself, dragging the despairing Walter with him; and upon the sound of the night-watchman's horn being heard, the crowd melted away as quickly as it had gathered, so that by the time the sleepy guardian of the peace appeared, the street was deserted and still once more.

Next morning, as Hans, attired in gala dress, ready for the great Festival of St. John's Day, sat in his workshop, the young knight entered from the chamber where he had been resting, and announced to his kind friend that he had just awakened from a beautiful and vivid dream, which he longed to put into song; and the honest, art-loving cobbler entreated him to sing it to him straightway, whilst still fresh in his mind, in the form of a master-song of the correct form, of which he gave him some few hints, declaring that with such a Heaven-sent subject, sung in the richly-flowing stream of melody that was his own priceless gift, he would certainly yet win the maiden he loved so well.

Encouraged thus by the large-hearted Hans, and inspired by his dream, Walter broke forth into a gloriously beautiful song, perfect alike in poetic form and wondrous melody, which the cobbler eagerly wrote down as he sang; and when the song came to an end, Hans, overcome with emotion and joy, hastily pushed the singer back to his chamber, bidding him put on gala raiment, and declaring himself confident of his success in the contest.

Whilst the knight was thus engaged, Beckmesser entered the shop, so stiff from his cudgelling of the night before that he could scarcely walk, and, intending to continue his quarrel with the cobbler; but, seeing the MS. of the song lying on the table, and imagining this to have been composed by Hans, his mood quickly changed, and he asked to be allowed to sing this in the competition, instead of the one he had himself written, since the latter, he added conceitedly, had now without doubt lost the charm it possessed in the ears of his adored mistress, who, having once heard it under such adverse conditions, would probably never care to hear it again.

Hans, knowing well enough that the unmusical town clerk would never be able to enter into the beauty of Walter's love-inspired words, said that he might have the song, bidding him, however, to sing it to a suitable melody; and Beckmesser, more confident than ever of his success, hurried away, full of delight at having thus secured, as he supposed, a song by Hans Sachs, who was acknowledged to be the finest poet amongst the Mastersingers.

A little later in the day, crowds of merry holiday-makers assembled in the large, open meadow on the outskirts of Nuremberg, to hear the great Competition of Song, which had been so eagerly looked forward to by all; and when Eva, the fair prize-maiden, looking more beautiful than ever in her dazzling white robe, and attended by a number of pretty maids-of-honour, had taken her seat upon the daïs which had been set for her, the enthralling business of the day began.

Amidst a sudden hush of expectancy, Hans Sachs rose to announce once again to the people the generous and soul-inspiring prize offered by the art-loving Pogner, to be awarded to the Master Musician whose song should be unanimously declared the most worthy of praise; and when the loud applause which greeted this speech had died away, Beckmesser was called upon to commence his song.

Nervously unrolling the MS. he had all the morning been vainly endeavouring to commit to memory, Beckmesser moved forward, and began his song, singing it to an altogether unsuitable, discordant, and unmusical tune; and in a frantic effort to remember the sense of what he was singing, he mixed up the words in the most hopeless manner, and, plunging deeper into the mire of confusion as he proceeded, he succeeded in completely losing himself, and converted the poem into an astonishing pot-pourri of ludicrous and meaningless balderdash.

At first, the people listened in amazement, thinking that the infallible marker, usually such a stickler for the correct rules of Mastersinging, had suddenly taken leave of his senses; and then, unable to restrain their merriment any longer, they all burst forth into a loud peal of derisive laughter, which completely drowned the ridiculous singer.

In a furious rage of disappointment and wounded vanity, Beckmesser flung the MS. at the feet of Hans Sachs, declaring to the people that the cobbler had schemed thus to disgrace him by foisting his own bad song upon him; but in spite of his defence, as he rushed away in a storm of vexation, he was followed by the jeers of the crowd, with whom he was by no means popular, and who had not desired that one so pompous and elderly should gain so fair a prize.

When Beckmesser had disappeared, Hans Sachs picked up the despised poem, and declared to the people that the song was a good one, but could only be properly sung by the person who had composed it, whose name was not Hans Sachs; and then he called on Sir Walter von Stolzing, as the composer of the song, who would, by singing it to them, quickly prove that he was worthy to be regarded as the very Mastersinger of Mastersingers.

A hum of admiration swept over the assembled company as the young knight stepped forward, for here, indeed, was one whose graceful form, glowing eyes, and poetry-inspired brow recalled the resplendent Minnesingers of old; and with hearts that throbbed with excitement, they listened to the rich joyous flood of melody that now filled the summer air.

Yes, Hans Sachs was right, and the song was a noble one, and this was a Heaven-sent singer who laid a magic touch upon their very hearts, and filled them with a rapture almost too intense to be borne; and even the critical Mastersingers who had cavilled at his heedless disregard of their various rules the evening before, were now held spellbound with wonder that song could be so glorious a thing.

As the song came to an end, a deafening burst of applause broke from the assemblage, who, with one accord, declared the young knight to be the winner in the contest; and as the beautiful Eva bent forward to place, with hands that trembled with joy, the wreath of victory upon the brow of the man she loved, a second burst of applause broke forth, for the two were well-matched, and made a fair picture as they stood together.

The Mastersingers now eagerly invited Walter to join their guild as one of themselves, an honour which, however, the young knight proudly refused, since his free spirit could not be curbed within so small a range.

On hearing this, Hans Sachs humorously reproved him for speaking disparagingly of an art which had bestowed so rare a prize upon him; and then he launched forth staunchly into a speech in praise of the honest German art he loved so well, a speech which was received with the wildest enthusiasm by all, for Hans Sachs was the darling of the people of Nuremburg.

Thus the Contest of Song came to an end; and the young knight who had set out so hopefully in search of Art, had found as well a fair bride, whose love should henceforth be the magic golden key that should unlock for him the gates of Fame, Honour, and Glory.

THE NIBELUNGS' RING
(Der Ring der Nibelungen)

PART I
THE RHINEGOLD
(Das Rheingold)

In the rocky depths of the wild Rhine river three lovely water-nymphs—Flosshildr, Woglinda, and Wellgunda—were merrily swimming hither and thither one dusky twilight; for though it was their duty to guard a certain mighty treasure, they found their task a light one, since no one had ever sought to rob them of it.

This evening, however, a visitor came to them at last; and suddenly the Rhine nymphs ceased their gambols in great surprise, on beholding a stranger in their midst. From a deep cleft in the rocks below a hideous black gnome had appeared; for Alberic the Nibelung, being of an adventurous spirit, had wandered upwards from Nibelheim, the underground abode of the gnomes, eager for fresh exploits.

As he now gazed upon the lovely Rhine nymphs, he was suddenly filled with a longing desire to possess one of them as a bride, and uttering a friendly greeting, he endeavoured to ingratiate himself with them. The water-maidens, however, scorned his advances, laughing at his ugly appearance; and when, incited by the fierce desire within him, he vainly tried to seize first one and then another in his grasp, they swam away merrily, leading him on with teasing taunts from rock to rock, until he was quite exhausted.

Presently, on approaching a central rock, upon which the nymphs had ensconced themselves, he was astonished to behold a wondrous gleam of gold issuing from its peak, and delighted at this dazzling radiance, he asked what it was. The maidens replied that the marvellous glow he saw came from the precious treasure they had been set to guard, the Rhinegold, which could only be torn from the rock by one who had forsworn for ever all the delights of love, and who might then shape from it a magic Ring that would gain him mighty power in the world.

On hearing this, Alberic, who had always longed for power, determined to gain the treasure; and loudly declaring that he renounced love and its delights for ever, he climbed the rock, and by a mighty effort wrenched the magic gold from its summit. The Rhine nymphs, now powerless to protect their treasure, dived back into the water with cries of despair, whilst Alberic triumphantly returned to Nibelheim with his prize.

Soon after this incident, the chief of the gods, Wotan, the All-Father, entered into an agreement with two powerful giants, Fasolt and Fafner, to build him a noble castle in Asgard, the abode of the gods; and in payment for this service, he promised to bestow upon them Freia, the goddess of Youth and Beauty.

Awakening one dawning day upon a flowery mountain-side, where he had been slumbering beside his celestial spouse, Fricka, the goddess of Marriage, he saw the glittering turrets of a glorious mansion upon a distant rocky height, and knew that the task was done; and arousing Fricka, he proudly pointed out to her their new abode, to which he gave the name of Valhalla.

Just then, however, the beautiful Freia fled to them for protection; and closely pursuing came the two giants, demanding her as the payment agreed upon for the task they had just completed.

But Wotan now refused to give up the beloved Freia, and when the giants, furious at his refusal, again demanded their rights, he turned eagerly for help to Loki, the god of Fire and Deceit, at whose mischievous instigation he had entered into the compact. Loki had promised the great god to assist him in preventing the giants from obtaining the reward agreed upon for their labours, and he now cunningly related the story of how the Rhine nymphs had lost their magic gold to Alberic the gnome, hoping to excite the giants' interest in a treasure that could secure the holder such mighty power.

His ruse succeeded; for the two giants now declared that they would accept Alberic's treasure in lieu of the Goddess Freia; and they desired Wotan to set forth, and rob the gnome at once.

Wotan, however, was furious at being asked to turn thief, and angrily refused to do their bidding; and upon this, Fasolt and Fafner suddenly seized Freia, and ran off with her, declaring that they would hold her in pledge until the Rhine Gold treasure was delivered to them.

And now, a dreadful misfortune befell the dwellers in Asgard; for Freia was the guardian of a magic apple-tree, the fruit of which, eaten daily, alone preserved their youth and immortality. Deprived of the beautiful guardian's care, the apples began to fade and die, and the gods, consequently, quickly found themselves growing old and withered, and their radiant strength departing.

Full of horror, Wotan was now forced to secure the return of Freia at the price named by the giants; and, accompanied by Loki, he descended through a rocky cleft to Nibelheim.

Here they made their way to the cave of Alberic, whose brother, Mime, they found crouching beside his blacksmith's forge, smarting from recent blows. For by this time Alberic had shaped from the Rhine Gold a magic Ring of marvellous power, and by means of it had made himself the ruler of Nibelheim, forcing the unhappy gnomes to slave day and night, amassing treasure-hoards for him. He had also compelled his brother, Mime, the most skillful smith in that land of forges, to make him a Tarnhelm, or wishing cap, by means of which he could render himself invisible, or take on the form of any creature he chose.

Having learnt this from Mime, who was even now smarting from the blows of his tyrant-brother, the two gods laid their plans; and when Alberic presently appeared, they greeted him in friendly tones, and invited him to show them the wonderful powers of his Tarnhelm.

The gnome, proud of his new treasure, at once put on his wishing-cap, and changed himself into a dragon; and then, at the request of the cunning Loki, he unsuspectingly took on the form of a toad. However, no sooner did the toad appear, than the gods instantly seized it, and binding their captive securely, they triumphantly bore him off to Wotan's mountain-side.

Here Alberic, though he had quickly regained his own shape, found himself a prisoner indeed, his precious Tarnhelm having been put out of his reach; and the exultant gods refused to set him free until he had agreed to yield up all his mighty treasures. So the wretched dwarf, in order to gain his freedom, was compelled to call upon his gnome-subjects to bring forth the precious hoards they had laid up for him, and to pile them in a heap upon the mountain-side.

When the Tarnhelm had been added to the glittering heap of gold and gems, Alberic entreated to be allowed to retain the magic Ring, and upon the request being refused, he passionately laid a curse upon the circlet, declaring that it should bring disaster and death upon every person who should afterwards own it. But in spite of the curse, the Ring was snatched from his finger by Wotan, and then, on being set free, the hapless gnome, robbed of his power, fled back to his own land, vanishing through a cleft in the rock.

A concourse of gods and goddesses had now arrived upon the scene; and presently the giants, Fasolt and Fafner, also arrived to claim their wages, bringing their hostage with them. At first Wotan also endeavoured to retain the Ring for himself; but the gods refused to yield Freia until they possessed this wonderful talisman as well as the other treasures. Then Erda, the wise goddess of Earth, rose slowly from the ground, and warned the great god that disaster was in store for him the longer he held the now fatal talisman; and at last, overcome by this warning, Wotan tore the Ring from his finger, and flung it upon the treasure-heap.

The giants now took possession of their prize; and upon Freia being set at liberty, all the gods at once regained their pristine youth and strength.

But Alberic's curse had not been a vain one, and no sooner did the giants obtain their treasure than they began to quarrel as to which should have the Ring; and in the fight that quickly ensued, Fasolt was killed. Fafner, the survivor, then secured the mighty hoard, together with the Ring and Tarnhelm, and retired to a certain gloomy cave in a wild, deserted spot; and here, in the form of a huge, fiery dragon, he guarded the prize he had won.

Wotan, over-awed at this immediate proof of the terrible power of Alberic's curse, began to wonder how he could preserve himself and all the gods descended from him; for he, also, had owned the fatal Ring for a time, and, god though he was, his powers were limited. Even when Fricka reminded him that the dazzling abode, Valhalla, was still left to him as a Castle of Refuge, he was little comforted, knowing that it had been obtained at a shameful price that would at length bring about the destruction of the gods, since he, their All-Father, could not escape the curse laid upon him; but he agreed to take possession of the castle.

Since the glittering mansion was separated from them by the great yawning valley of the Rhine, Donner, the god of Thunder, came forward to their aid; and first clearing the cloud-laden, misty air by means of a thunderstorm, he set up a dazzling rainbow-bridge from one mountain top to the other.

It completely spanned the valley; and upon this beautiful arch of radiant light, the gods passed over to take possession of the glorious halls of Valhalla.

PART II
THE VALKYRIE
(Die Walküre)

One wild and stormy evening, a noble warrior-hero, named Siegmund, flying weaponless and shieldless through a dark forest, sought refuge from his pursuing enemies in the first lonely homestead he came to, and opening the door with eager haste, unceremoniously stepped within.

He found himself in a strange-looking room; for the house was built around a mighty ash-tree, the huge trunk of which stood as a pillar in the centre. Finding that the room was empty, Siegmund strode forward to the hearth, and being utterly exhausted by his late exertions and flight, he stretched himself upon a bear-skin before the fire, and sank into a sweet, refreshing slumber.

Soon afterwards, there came forth from an inner chamber a beautiful but sad-looking maiden—Sieglinde, the mistress of this curious dwelling-place—and full of surprise at seeing a stranger lying upon the hearth, she called to him in a low tone.

The sound of the maiden's sweet voice aroused Siegmund; and raising his head, he asked for a drink. Sieglinde quickly filled a drinking-horn with water, and handed it to the warrior, who drank thirstily; and then, as Siegmund gazed upon the fair beauty of his benefactress, a thrill of delight passed through him, and he asked who it was who thus restored him to life.

Sieglinde, through whose veins an answering thrill had also sped, replied that she was the wife of Hunding, a warrior, in whose house he had found shelter; and to show that he was welcome there, she fetched him a horn of foaming mead, and begged him to drink again. When Siegmund returned the horn, their eyes met in a long, passionate gaze; for love had suddenly entered their hearts, and both felt that their fates would be for ever intertwined.

As they talked together there was a quick step outside, and next moment Hunding, the warrior, entered the room. He was of a fierce, stern, and gloomy countenance; and as his eyes fell upon the stranger standing beside his hearth, a dark scowl swept over his brow. Sieglinde explained in a trembling voice that the stranger had sought shelter in their house, and that she had given him refreshment; and then, extending a somewhat tardy welcome to his guest, Hunding doffed his weapons and bade his wife spread supper for them.

When the three were seated at the table, Hunding curtly demanded his guest's name and history; and Siegmund replied sadly that he was known to the world as "Woful," owing to his misfortunes, and that he and a beloved twin-sister had been born to a famous hero. One evening, when Woful was still but a child, on returning from a forest hunt with his father, a terrible sight had met their eyes; for their home had been burnt and laid waste by enemies, the beautiful mother lay dead, and no trace whatever remained of the tender little maid who had been the sunshine of their lives. Some years later, the warlike hero also suddenly disappeared, and then his unhappy son was left to struggle as best he could with the ill-luck that had followed him all his life. That evening, on passing through the forest, he had rushed to the aid of a poor maiden, whose kinsmen were seeking to wed her to a churl whom she abhorred; but being overwhelmed and disarmed by the fierce tyrants, he had been compelled to flee for his life and take refuge in the first homestead he came to.

On hearing this last part of the story, Hunding's brow grew dark; and he declared with suppressed anger that they were his kinsfolk whom Woful had attacked, adding that he himself had been called to their aid, but arriving too late to be of assistance, had returned to his house, only to find the flying foe upon his own hearth.

Siegmund, seeing that he had thus unwittingly sought shelter in the abode of an enemy, felt that his last hour had come, since he had no weapons for his defence; but Hunding, being bound by the laws of hospitality not to harm his guest till the morrow, declared that he was safe for that night, but should die with morning light.

He then bade his wife prepare his evening draught, and retire for the night; but as Sieglinde moved towards the inner chamber, she threw a tender, sympathising glance upon the despondent Siegmund. Then Hunding, having seen that the door was fastened, took up his weapons with a triumphant look at his doomed guest, and also departed to the sleeping-chamber; and Siegmund, left alone, sank upon the hearth with troubled thoughts.

Presently, as he lay gazing into the dying embers of the fire, the door of the inner chamber was softly opened, and the beautiful Sieglinde came towards him in haste, declaring that he might now depart in safety, since Hunding lay wrapped in helpless slumber, she having mixed a narcotic with his evening draught. She added that a wonderful weapon also lay ready to his hand; and then, returning the tender glance bestowed upon her by Siegmund, she began to tell him a strange story.

On the day she was wedded to Hunding against her will, having been forced to the deed by fierce ravishers who had stolen her from her home in early childhood, a stranger, wrapped in a dark cloak, had suddenly entered this very hall, and plunging a shining sword deep down to the hilt in the ash-tree's stem, had declared that it possessed magic qualities, and should become the prize of whichever hero could pluck it forth. All the warriors at the festive board had tried to wrench the sword from its sheath, but in vain; and Sieglinde added that she knew by the kindly glance bestowed upon her by the stranger, whose features had reminded her of the father she had been stolen from, that the magic weapon was reserved for some brave hero who should one day come to offer her his love and help, and who, her heart whispered, now stood before her.

These words filled Siegmund with an intoxication of joy; and no longer able to quell the love that already surged in his heart, he clasped the beautiful maiden in his arms with rapture. But as Sieglinde gazed upon her beloved, his features and glances suddenly reminded her of the stranger who had plunged the sword in the tree; and on learning from Siegmund that his father had been known as Volsung, she exclaimed that that was the name of her own father, whose features had been reflected in those of the stranger who had appeared on her wedding morn.

Siegmund, quickly realising that it was his long-lost twin-sister who stood before him, and whose love he had won, embraced her with even greater joy than before; and knowing now that his mysterious father, Volsung, had placed the sword in the ash-tree to be plucked thence by his own son only, he hastened to the mighty tree and triumphantly drew the weapon forth, announcing its name to be "Needful." Then the enraptured lovers, hand locked in hand, rushed forth joyously into the sweet spring night; and hastening with glad footsteps through the moonlit forest, they sought a place of refuge from the vengeance of Hunding, who, they knew, would follow them on awakening from the effects of the narcotic.

Now Siegmund and Sieglinde, though they knew it not, were in reality the twin-children of the great god Wotan, who, in the guise of the hero Volsung, had wooed and won a beautiful maiden of the earth; and from the first naught but misery had fallen to the lot of the ill-fated pair.

As soon as Wotan's celestial wife, Fricka, the goddess of Marriage and upholder of conjugal bonds, knew of the unholy love of Siegmund and Sieglinde, and of their flight from Hunding, she was filled with indignation; and summoning her roving and inconstant husband, she poured forth angry reproaches upon him for countenancing this violation of her laws. She demanded that the recreant lovers should be overtaken and punished, and that Siegmund's magic sword should be broken; and knowing that Wotan had already despatched one of his attendant war-maidens, the beautiful Valkyrie, Brünhilde, to assist his son against the pursuing Hunding, she bade him instantly recall her.

It was in vain that Wotan, who really loved his earth-born children, pleaded for the unhappy lovers; and the angry goddess gave him no peace until he promised to cause Siegmund to be vanquished by his avenger.

So the great god reluctantly called back the Valkyrie, Brünhilde; and when the beautiful war-maiden appeared before him, clad in dazzling mail, fully armed and mounted on a fiery celestial steed, he sadly commanded her to give assistance to the wronged Hunding, instead of to Siegmund, as he had at first bade her. Brünhilde, who knew that Wotan still longed to help his son, went forth upon her mission with a heavy heart, and soon came up with the fleeing lovers.

After wandering onwards for many days, only stopping for necessary rest, Siegmund and his stolen bride had at length come to a wild, rocky height; but even here they did not feel safe, for they knew that Hunding was quickly following on their track. But Sieglinde was so much exhausted by her long journey that she could go no farther; and sinking upon a sheltering ledge, she presently fell into a troubled sleep.

As Siegmund watched beside the sleeping form of his beloved one, he suddenly beheld the dazzling figure of the beautiful war-maiden, Brünhilde; and knowing that the Valkyries only appeared to heroes doomed to fall in battle, he asked in trembling tones whom she sought. Brünhilde answered solemnly that she had come to bear him, Siegmund the Volsung, hence with her to Valhalla, at the command of Wotan; but when Siegmund eagerly asked if Sieglinde would accompany him there, she replied that the maiden must remain on earth.

Then Siegmund passionately declared that he would forego all the celestial glories of Valhalla if he might not share them with his beloved one; adding that with his magic sword, Needful, he would gain the victory in the approaching fight, and thus defeat Wotan of his prey.

Now when Brünhilde saw what a passionate love it was that bound these two young hearts, she was filled with tender pity; and at last, after a short struggle with herself, she resolved to disobey the command of Wotan, and give her assistance to the lovers, instead of to their enemy.

Presently the young warrior heard the sound of horn-calls coming nearer and nearer; and soon afterwards Hunding came in sight. A violent thunderstorm now began to rage, and the sombre gloom of the wild scene was constantly illumined by the awful glare of lightning; but, heedless of the warring elements, Siegmund dashed forward to meet the vengeful Hunding as he appeared on the craggy height, and quickly clashed swords with him.

The noise of the storm awakened Sieglinde; and she uttered a shriek of terror as a brilliant flash of lightning revealed to her the furiously fighting forms of Hunding and Siegmund, with the Valkyrie, Brünhilde, soaring defensively over the latter, guarding him with her shield. But at this moment there was an unexpected interruption; for Wotan himself, enraged by the Valkyrie's disobedience to his will, and bound by his oath to his celestial spouse, suddenly swooped down upon the combatants, with anger in his mien.

Terrified at this awful apparition of the all-powerful god, Brünhilde retreated before him; and as she did so, Siegmund's magic sword broke upon the outstretched mighty spear of Wotan, leaving him thus the prey of the triumphant Hunding, who quickly buried his weapon in the defenceless breast of his enemy.

As her vanquished lover uttered his last dying gasp, Sieglinde sank senseless to the ground; but Brünhilde snatched her up instantly, and mounting her fiery steed that stood waiting near, she rode wildly away with her prize.

For a few moments Wotan gazed down sorrowfully upon the prostrate form of the hero-son he would so gladly have saved; and then, in a terrible outburst of wrath and grief, he killed the conquering Hunding, and disappeared on the wings of the storm in pursuit of the flying Brünhilde.

The beautiful war-maiden rode at desperate speed; but, after travelling an immense distance, her noble steed at last fell exhausted at the top of a high rocky mountain. Upon the summit of this mountain, a band of mounted Valkyries in full armour had gathered to rest on their way to Valhalla, each with the dead body of a fallen warrior lying across her saddle-bag; and to these war-maidens, her sisters, Brünhilde hastened to beg assistance, bearing Sieglinde with her.

She quickly told them her story, and begged for a horse to continue her flight; but when the Valkyries knew that she was flying from the wrath of their beloved All-Father, they refused to give her aid, fearing lest Wotan's anger should fall upon them also, if they protected one who had disobeyed him.

Seeing that she could thus no longer protect the now conscious Sieglinde, Brünhilde bade her fly onward alone, towards a certain forest ever shunned by Wotan; and when the poor maiden declared that she no longer desired to live, the inspired Valkyrie earnestly besought her not to despair, since she should become the mother of the greatest hero of the world, who should be called Siegfried. At the same time, she placed in her hands the broken pieces of Siegmund's magic sword, which she had seized as he fell to the ground; and she desired Sieglinde to keep the fragments for her son, who should forge them once more into a weapon of wondrous power.

Comforted, and filled with joy on hearing this prophecy, Sieglinde, no longer despairing, was eager to save herself from harm; and bestowing a grateful blessing upon her self-sacrificing protector, she quickly rushed away towards the gloomy forest indicated.

Amidst appalling thunder and lightning Wotan now appeared upon the mountain top; and as Brünhilde stood humbly before him, with downcast mien, the angry god declared that for her disobedience to him, she should be a Valkyrie no longer, and that, deprived of divinity and the sweet joys of Valhalla, she should be doomed to lie in an enchanted sleep, for the first passing churl to awaken and call his own.

On hearing her terrible sentence, Brünhilde sank upon her knees; and with a despairing cry, she implored the All-Father not to leave her to become the prey of any mere braggart, but to place a circle of fire around the rock upon which she must lie in charmed sleep, that she might at least not be awakened by any but a hero valiant enough to brave the flames to gain her.

For some time Wotan refused to grant her plea; but at last he yielded, overcome by the tenderness he still felt for her, for Brünhilde had ever been the best beloved of all his war-maidens. He declared that he would call forth such fiery flames to protect her slumbers as should scare away all timid cravens, and that only one who had never known fear should awaken her—the greatest hero of the world; and Brünhilde was filled with joy and gratitude, knowing that this mighty feat was reserved for the yet unborn hero-son of Siegmund and Sieglinde.

Wotan now gently kissed the beautiful Valkyrie upon both eyes, which instantly closed in slumber; and bearing her tenderly in his arms, he laid her upon a low, moss-covered rock covering her graceful mail-clad form with the long shield she had borne so bravely. Then, striking the rock three times with his spear, he uttered an invocation to the god Loki to come to his aid, and out leapt a stream of fiery flames, which quickly surrounded the mountain top; and with a last long look of affection at the sleeping maiden, the god returned to his celestial abode.

But the fair Brünhilde lay wrapped in peaceful slumber upon her fire-encircled couch; and though many bold travellers longed to possess the lovely maiden, none were found willing to brave the scorching flames—a deed that awaited the coming of the world's greatest hero, Siegfried the Fearless.

PART III
SIEGFRIED

Mime the Nibelung stood working at his forge one summer day in the gloomy forest cavern that served him as a dwelling-place; and as he hammered at a fine long sword he had laid upon the anvil, he was filled with despondency, knowing that, in spite of all his skill in forging, he could not make a sword that would not be splintered at the first mighty stroke of the noble youth for whom it was intended.

For Mime, though but a hideous gnome of evil disposition, and full of guile, had been the means of preserving the precious infant life of Siegfried, the promised hero-son of Siegmund and Sieglinde; and he had nourished him with great care, knowing that this child was destined, in years to come, to slay Fafner, the giant dragon that guarded the mighty treasure of his Nibelung brother, Alberic.

He cunningly hoped by means of Siegfried to obtain this coveted treasure for himself; and so he kept the child ignorant of the secret of the Rhinegold, and of his own high birth. As Siegfried grew to manhood, he had no knowledge of his true parentage, though he utterly refused to regard Mime as his father; for in spite of his protecting care, he hated the dwarf, feeling unconsciously that he had only preserved him for his own evil ends.

Mime knew this, and feared him accordingly; and as he now stood working at his forge this summer day, he trembled as he thought of the youth's wonderful strength, for every sword he had yet made for him, Siegfried had only contemptuously snapped in half.

Just as he finished the sword, Siegfried himself dashed boisterously into the cave, leading by a leash a great bear he had caught in the forest; for fear was unknown to the hero-son of Sieglinde, and savage beasts he but regarded as his play-fellows.

He was a noble-looking youth of dazzling beauty, mighty strength, and dauntless courage as befitted a descendant of the great god, Wotan; and his contempt for the puny Mime was quickly shown by the careless manner in which, in mere wanton mischief, he drove the fierce bear round the cave after the wretched gnome, who shrank back in abject fear.

At last, having laughingly driven the growling beast back to the forest, Siegfried returned, and demanded the new sword he had bidden Mime forge for him; and the dwarf timidly handed him the blade he had just finished, which would have been regarded as a mighty weapon by any ordinary mortal.

But Siegfried laughed derisively as he took up the sword to test its strength; and striking it but once upon the anvil, the steel immediately shivered to pieces.

To stem the torrent of wrath that now burst upon him, Mime whiningly implored Siegfried to remember the loving care he had ever shown for him since infancy; but the youth declared that he hated the sight of the gnome, and despised the pretended love he professed for him, since he knew him to be at heart false and evil.

He then demanded to be told who were his parents, and how he came to be left in the charge of a puny dwarf; and Mime, terrified at the authoritative flash in the eyes of Siegfried, and not daring to deceive him longer, told him in trembling tones all that he knew. He said that he had found in the forest one day a beautiful woman, named Sieglinde, who lay in tears and deep suffering; and carrying her to his cave, he had tended her with care. She gave birth to a child during the night, and dying almost immediately afterwards, had left the babe to the care of Mime, bidding him call her son by the name of Siegfried.

Filled with emotion as he listened to this sad story, Siegfried next demanded some proof of its truth; and very reluctantly Mime presently produced the pieces of a broken sword, which he said the dying woman had also left in his charge for her son, whose hero-father, she declared, had used it in his last fight. Overjoyed at the possession of this great treasure, which proved that his father had been a noble warrior, Siegfried now commanded Mime to forge the pieces afresh into a mighty sword once more, and enthusiastically declaring that with his father's weapon he would win himself renown, he rushed forth into the forest to tell his joy to the birds and beasts he loved so well.

But Mime was left in despair; for though he had many times in secret tried to weld the broken pieces of the magic sword, Needful, he had never yet succeeded, and knew it was beyond his skill to do so.

As the dwarf stood despondently at his anvil, a stranger, wrapped in a dark mantle, suddenly entered the cave and sat down to rest by the hearth; and though he called himself a Wanderer, Mime soon learnt to his terror, from the stranger's huge spear causing thunder to mutter as it struck the ground, that it was in reality the great god Wotan who had thus invaded his dwelling.

Although ill-received by the dwarf, the Wanderer calmly kept his seat; and in the course of conversation, he announced that Mime should fall a prey to the just wrath of one who had never known fear, and who alone possessed the power to forge the mighty sword, Needful.

With these ominous words the stranger vanished, and as Mime shrank back to his forge, trembling, Siegfried returned from the forest, and demanded his sword. The dwarf declared that he had not skill enough to forge the broken blade, and he added that it could only be restored by one who had never felt fear.

Upon Siegfried eagerly demanding what this fear was, Mime tried to describe the feeling to him; and the youth declared that he had no knowledge of such tremblings, but was curious to experience them. Then Mime craftily remarked that he knew of a terrible giant dragon, named Fafner, who would quickly teach him what fearing was; and Siegfried exclaimed impetuously that the dwarf should conduct him to this monster without delay.

He then took up the fragments of the magic sword, declaring that he alone, who knew not fear, would restore the weapon; and filing down the steel, he melted it in a crucible, and began to forge it afresh. Amidst the roaring of the bellows and the clang of the falling hammer, Mime sat lost in meditation, wondering how he could turn the youth's power to his own purposes; and at last an evil idea flashed across his brain.

He would let the hero slay the dragon and even secure the treasure; and then, when exhausted by his exertions, he would offer him a cooling draught containing a deadly poison, which should instantly cause his death, and the great prize would thus fall into the hands of Mime the Nibelung.

Siegfried had now fashioned his sword, and was singing gleefully as he hammered it on the anvil, calling it lovingly by name, and finishing it off with wondrous skill; and by the time the gnome had brewed his fatal draught, the magic blade, Needful, was completely restored.

With a loud shout of joy Siegfried seized the mighty weapon, and struck it with all his force upon the anvil to test its strength; and the blow was so great that the anvil split from top to bottom, and fell asunder with a terrific crash.

But Needful remained bright and unscratched; and swinging the wonderful sword exultingly over his head Siegfried rushed out of the cave, calling on the awed and shrinking Mime to lead him to the dragon's den. The dwarf, quickly recovering himself, and remembering the prize in store for him, took up the horn containing the fatal draught he had brewed; and joining Siegfried immediately, he led him unerringly through the forest to the wild spot where Fafner's cave was situated.

Here Alberic the Nibelung had been awaiting the dragon's death for many years; and having learnt this very day from Wotan, the Wanderer, of the near approach of Siegfried, he had slipped back into a rocky cleft to watch what happened.

Soon afterwards, Siegfried and Mime came forth from the forest; but the timid dwarf did not dare to remain long near the cave, and quickly departed to hide, after telling the youth that the dragon would soon appear. The young hero presently blew a long, loud blast upon his hunting-horn; and almost immediately afterwards, the terrible giant dragon, Fafner, came out from his cave, demanding who summoned him.

Siegfried stared at the great beast in amazement; but not a single spark of alarm was in his brave heart as he boldly announced that he had come to learn what fearing was. Fafner replied that he was overbold, since he should now serve him as food; but upon this, Siegfried, having no mind to provide a meal for the unwieldy creature, though fearless still, drew his sword, Needful, and smilingly sprang forward to meet his enemy.

With fire and poisonous fumes issuing from his nostrils, the dragon rushed upon him; but as it raised its huge body, Siegfried dashed boldly beneath the gaping jaws, and buried his sword in the monster's breast.

As the dragon rolled over, dead, Siegfried drew his sword triumphantly from its body; but in so doing, he accidentally tasted the creature's blood. Suddenly he discovered, to his joy, that he could now understand the language of the birds around him; and being especially attracted by the notes of a pretty wood-bird, he went nearer to listen to what it had to say. The wood-bird told him to enter the cave, and possess himself of the dragon's treasure, adding that if only he gained the Tarnhelm and magic Ring, he could make himself lord of the whole world.

Full of joy, Siegfried rushed into the cave; and at that moment Mime and Alberic came forth from opposite directions, scowling with surprise and anger as they recognised each other. They instantly began to quarrel as to which should have the treasure; but when Siegfried presently issued from the cave, with the Ring on his finger and the wishing-cap tucked into his belt, Alberic departed, content to let his curse take effect upon the spoiler.

As Siegfried passed under the trees, the wood-bird again spoke to him: and this time his feathered friend warned him that Mime was his enemy, and meant to poison him in order to obtain the treasures he had won. The youth, having always suspected the dwarf of evil intentions, was thus put upon his guard; and when Mime presently drew near with insinuating smile, and pleasantly offered him the horn of poison as a "cooling drink," he instantly plunged his sword into the traitor's heart.

As the crafty dwarf fell dead at his feet, the wood-bird spoke yet once again; and in sweet, thrilling tones, it now told him of a glorious bride whom he might win—the beautiful fallen Valkyrie, Brünhilde, who still slept upon her rocky fastness, surrounded by fire, and waiting for the one fearless hero of the world to brave the flames and possess her.

Filled with rapture at the thought that the joys of love might thus be his, Siegfried eagerly desired to know in which direction so fair a prize lay; and for answer, the pretty wood-bird spread its wings and fluttered along in front to show him the way. Through miles and miles of forest depths the feathered guide flew without resting; and then, when night had passed and the rosy dawn appeared, it suddenly vanished, and Siegfried, finding himself at the foot of a wild mountain, the rocky top of which was encircled by fire, knew that he had arrived at his goal.

But as he approached the mountain-side his path was suddenly blocked by a stranger. This was none other than Wotan, the Wanderer, who still roamed the world, conscious of his approaching doom, which should be brought nearer by this same radiant Volsung youth, and who, having vainly sought advice from the wise goddess Erda, now half-heartedly hoped to oppose the hero himself.

Seeing a stranger barring his path with extended spear, Siegfried drew his magic blade, Needful, and with a mighty stroke hewed the spear in two pieces, upon which a blinding flash of lightning rent the air, followed by a loud crash of thunder. Knowing now that it was useless to withstand this hero-youth who had thus destroyed his weapon of power, Wotan vanished in a cloud of darkness, and retreating in despair to Valhalla, he there awaited the Twilight of the Gods, which he knew was now quickly approaching, since he, the mightiest of them all, had been defeated.

But Siegfried, free to pursue his way once more, dashed joyfully up the mountain-side, and plunging fearlessly through the fierce encircling flames, he reached the rock beyond in safety. Here the Valkyrie, Brünhilde, still lay peacefully slumbering; and gently removing her protecting shield and helmet, Siegfried, entranced, stood gazing in breathless silence upon her dazzling loveliness. A passionate love surged up in his quickly-beating heart; and kneeling beside the fair maiden, he pressed a tender kiss upon her lips.

Instantly Brünhilde opened her beautiful eyes, and rising from her rocky couch greeted Siegfried with joy, telling him that she had loved him all through her charmed sleep, knowing that he alone should awaken her to life once more.

Then Siegfried, enraptured, clasped her in his arms, entreating her to accept his love; and though Brünhilde at first shrank back, offended at the touch of a mortal, she could not long fight against the answering passion awakened in her own breast. Remembering that her divinity was now lost for ever, she placed her hand in Siegfried's with joy; and as the hero held his beautiful bride in his arms, he felt that the dark night-time of his early years had at last dawned into a glorious day-time of light and joy.

PART IV
THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS
(Die Götterdämmerung)

When night-time fell, after the meeting of Brünhilde and Siegfried, the three Nornir, or Fates, appeared on the Valkyrie's fire-encircled rock, and crouching amidst the rugged stones, began to sing as they spun their golden cord of the runes of Destiny.

But although the radiant lovers slumbered sweetly in a neighbouring cave, and all the world around seemed calm and peaceful, the weird song of the three dread Sisters was full of gloom and sadness; for they knew that, owing to the fatal power of the Nibelung's curse, disaster was about to fall, not only upon these lovers, but also upon the dwellers in Asgard, whose doom was quickly approaching.

Suddenly, as they sang, their rope of Destiny broke asunder; and with wild, despairing cries the three Nornir disappeared, knowing now that the Twilight of the Gods would soon begin.

The night wore on, and when daylight appeared the lovers issued from the cave: Siegfried, in full armour, with his mighty sword girdled about him, and Brünhilde leading her horse by its bridle. For the beautiful Valkyrie would not keep her hero, dearly though she loved him, from gaining glory and honour in the world; and Siegfried, having already learned much of her divine wisdom, was now about to set forth in search of fresh exploits and adventures.

For a parting gift to his love, Siegfried placed his magic Ring upon Brünhilde's finger as the sign of their troth, as yet knowing naught of its fatal power; and Brünhilde, in return, bestowed upon him her noble horse, Grani. The lovers swore to be true to each other, and then, after a passionate farewell, they parted.

After many wanderings, Siegfried, following the course of the Rhine, came to the Hall of the Gibichungs, or Burgundian tribe. Here a powerful king, named Gunther, reigned, and with him lived his beautiful sister, Gudrun, and their half-brother, Hagen, whose father was none other than the wretched gnome, Alberic.

Now, Hagen, though so keen-witted as to be the chosen adviser of his royal half-brother, had also inherited the evil qualities and greed of his gnome-father; and hearing of the approach of the hero, Siegfried, whose wonderful exploits were by this time world-renowned, he laid a cunning plan, by means of which the Gibichungs might win, or at least share, the fearless one's power and wealth.

Relating the story of the fire-encircled Valkyrie, he pointed out to Gunther that Brünhilde would make him a radiant bride, and that if Gudrun could be wedded to Siegfried, they would thus secure the Nibelung's treasure, which would gain them the mastery of the whole world. He suggested that in order to carry out this plan they should give Siegfried, on his arrival, a magic draught they possessed, by means of which he should forget his love for Brünhilde, and conceive a passion for Gudrun; and Gunther and his sister, being dazzled at the prospect of being so nobly mated, gladly agreed to the scheme, whilst Hagen, cunningly keeping back his knowledge of Brünhilde's and Siegfried's vows of love, rejoiced, because of the opportunity that would occur for securing the treasure he coveted.

So when Siegfried arrived in the Gibichungs' land he was met on the banks of the Rhine by Hagen, and conducted at once to the royal Hall; and here he received a joyous welcome from King Gunther and his fair sister.

Siegfried was greatly pleased with his kindly welcome; and when Gudrun presently offered him a well-filled drinking-horn, in token of friendship and hospitality, he gladly drank off its contents to the health of his beloved Brünhilde.

But the magic love-potion had been mingled with the draught, and no sooner had he set down the horn than the likeness of Brünhilde faded from his mind, and all memory of his love for her became a blank. It seemed to him that the fair Gudrun was the first maiden he had ever beheld, and a passionate desire to possess her suddenly grew up within him.

Gudrun beheld his ardent glances with great joy, for an answering love had quickly sprung up in her own heart for the noble hero before her. Taking her willing hand in his, Siegfried led the maiden, who now possessed his whole heart, to her royal brother, and eagerly requested her hand in marriage; and to this Gunther gave his consent on condition that the Valkyrie, Brünhilde, was secured as a bride for himself. Siegfried gladly agreed to go through the fire once more, and woo Brünhilde for his new friend; and when the two had sworn an oath of brotherhood, they set out together to begin their enterprise at once.

In a royal barque they sailed down the Rhine a certain distance, and then when the Valkyrie's rock came in sight, Siegfried bade Gunther remain in the boat, whilst he himself went forward alone to climb the mountain. By means of his Tarnhelm, or wishing-cap, he took on the form and appearance of Gunther—the two having agreed that the martial maiden must be wooed and won by Siegfried in the likeness of the king—and promising to be loyal and faithful to his oath, the young hero began to climb the rocky height.

Brünhilde had just received a visit from her Valkyrie sister, Valtrauta, who had come to entreat her to restore the Nibelung's fatal Ring to the Rhine nymphs once more, as the only remaining hope of saving the dwellers in Asgard; for Wotan had now gathered the gods together in Valhalla—around which he had caused to be piled a forest of faggots from the world's ash-tree, hewn down at his command—and all were silently and sadly awaiting their approaching doom, the dreaded Twilight, that meant for them destruction. The only glimpse of hope now left was for the mighty Ring to be returned to the Rhine, when its curse upon men and gods would become void; and on learning this from the beloved All-Father, Valtrauta had mounted her war-horse and flown at once to her fallen sister, who she knew possessed the Ring.

But Brünhilde, cut off as she was from the joys of Valhalla, would not part with her love-token, which was more precious to her than all the dwellers in Asgard; and in spite of the passionate entreaties of Valtrauta, she utterly refused to give up the Ring.

Finding that her pleading was in vain, the despairing Valkyrie was compelled to depart; and no sooner had she gone, than Siegfried, in the form and garb of Gunther, sprang fearlessly through the zone of fire, and advancing towards Brünhilde, whom he regarded as a stranger, announced calmly, in a disguised voice, that having braved the flames he had come to possess her as a bride.

Full of horror at being thus wooed by a stranger during the absence of her hero-lover, Brünhilde shrank back, and indignantly refused to yield herself to this bold intruder, receiving strength from her magic Ring; but upon her talisman being wrested from her by the superior force of Siegfried, she became powerless, and was compelled to submit to his will. Siegfried now led her to the cave as their bridal chamber, but, mindful of his oath and loyalty to Gunther, whose wooing he had so strangely undertaken, he laid his sword, Needful, between them.

Next day, at dawn, the disguised Siegfried took the bride he had won for another by the hand, and led her safely through the flames and down the mountain-side, and on being met at the river-side by Gunther, he instantly vanished by means of his Tarnhelm, and transported himself to the Gibichungs' Hall. So when the true Gunther took her by the hand, Brünhilde regarded him as her wooer of the night before, and the pair entered the barque.

Now, during the absence of Gunther and Siegfried, Hagen had been visited in a vision by his gnome-father, Alberic, who besought him to seek quickly an opportunity to kill Siegfried, and so secure from him the magic Ring by means of which the Nibelung might regain his lost power; and Hagen gladly agreed to use his craft for this purpose.

When Gunther returned with Brünhilde to the Gibichungs' Hall, great preparations were made to celebrate the two marriages in splendid state, and all the vassals and warriors quickly assembled to join in the revels.

All this time Brünhilde had remained submissive and downcast; but now, on entering the Hall with Gunther and finding herself confronted by Siegfried, who led Gudrun by the hand, she started violently and gazed on him with utter astonishment. Suddenly observing the magic Ring upon his finger, the true identity of the bold wooer who had intruded upon her rocky fastness flashed across her mind, and, full of furious anger at the discovery, she announced to all the company that she had been betrayed, and that Siegfried, in his wooing of her in disguise, had dishonoured their King.

Siegfried fearlessly defended himself, declaring that he had been loyal to his trust; but his explanations were designedly confounded by Hagen, who, for his own evil purposes, used his cunning wit to persuade all that the great hero had indeed acted as a base traitor.

Siegfried, however, having a clear conscience, still declared his innocence; and taking the hand of Gudrun, whom he now loved passionately owing to the effect of the love-potion, he led her gaily to join in the revels, followed by most of the company.

But Brünhilde and Gunther remained in their places, overcome with indignation, still believing Siegfried to be false; and seeing them alone, Hagen joined them, and with cunning words strengthened their suspicions and persuaded them that it was their duty to avenge themselves for the ill that had been done them. He at last obtained their consent to the murder of Siegfried, which he agreed to carry out himself at a hunting party next day; and having arranged this, they rejoined the revellers, and the wedding rejoicings went forward once more.

Next day, a grand royal hunt was organised, and Siegfried, in eager pursuit of prey, found himself at one time alone on the bank of the river. As he stood there a moment, gazing into the water, the three lovely Rhine maidens, Flosshildr, Woglinda, and Wellgunda, swam towards the shore and gave him glad greeting, knowing that this was the great hero who now possessed their long-lost treasure; and in coaxing tones they entreated him to restore the magic Ring to them.

Siegfried, however, refused to listen to their pleadings, even when the nymphs told him that if he retained it longer, the talisman would quickly bring death upon him; and as the Rhine maidens swam away disconsolately, he laughed aloud at their warning.

At that moment, Gunther, Hagen, and the rest of the hunting party joined him, and sitting down to rest upon the river bank, the huntsmen began to feast and make merry together. To amuse his new friends, Siegfried began to tell them the story of his life and adventures; but just as he was relating how he had scaled the fire-encircled mountain, Hagen crept softly forward and suddenly stabbed him in the back with his hunting-spear, announcing to the dismayed onlookers that the deed was done in retribution for the hero's betrayal of their King.

Siegfried sank to the ground immediately; and the effect of the magic potion of forgetfulness waning as his life-blood welled forth, all his old love for the beautiful Valkyrie he had so innocently betrayed returned to bless his last moments, and with Brünhilde's name upon his lips, he died.

The dead hero's body was quickly borne back to the royal Hall; and when the fair Gudrun beheld the lifeless form of her husband of a day, she fell senseless to the ground, overcome by despair.

Hagen and Gunther now began to quarrel as to which should possess the magic Ring; and in the furious fight that ensued Gunther was killed.

Loud cries of woe quickly arose, and in the dismay and confusion that followed, Brünhilde hastened forward. At sight of the dead Siegfried, she was filled with utmost grief, and learning from the reviving and sorrowing Gudrun of his innocence, and remembering naught but her passionate love for him, she firmly resolved to perish with her hero.

In a commanding tone none dared to disobey she silenced the noise and confusion around her, and bade the warriors instantly to build up a funeral pyre upon the banks of the Rhine; and when this had been done, the dead body of Siegfried was laid upon it. She then tenderly placed his magic Ring upon her finger, and seizing a lighted torch, set the faggots ablaze.

She now understood that through her alone the sin of the great All-Father must be atoned for, and that by her sacrifice of Love, the world should be redeemed. The curse of the Ring would also be removed by her death, for with her ashes the fatal Gold would be restored to the Rhine.

Thus nobly resolving to sacrifice herself, she desired two Ravens hovering near—the messengers of Wotan—to return to the great god so sadly awaiting his end, and announce to him that his destiny was about to be fulfilled; and also to bid the god Loki, who still guarded the rock upon which she had lain in a charmed sleep, to depart with his fire to Valhalla.

She then mounted her faithful steed, Grani, and as the flames sprang brightly upwards, leaped high with him into the midst of the burning pyre, and perished beside the corpse of her hero-lover. As the flames died away, the river suddenly rose, and overflowing its banks, covered the remains of the funeral pile; and at the same moment, the three Rhine nymphs swam up to secure their Gold.

Hagen made a last frantic effort to reach the talisman by plunging into the flood; but being seized by the nymphs, he was dragged beneath the waves and drowned.

So the Rhine maidens at last regained their precious treasure, and the curse of the Ring was removed; but the dwellers in Asgard were doomed, for Loki had already accomplished his mission.

Suddenly a fiery, crimson glow appeared in the heavens, ever spreading and increasing to a dazzling brilliancy; and as the warriors and mourners gazed with awe upon this wondrous sight, they saw that Valhalla, with all its glorious array of gods and heroes, was already engulfed in an ocean of leaping flames.

The Twilight of the Gods had come!