The giants have lent their ear to this recital, and the desire to possess this gold is aroused in them. Let them be given this all-powerful metal, and they will relinquish the fair Frya; meanwhile they carry away the charming goddess, who weeps and supplicates. Then the heavens become darkened; a mortal affliction has taken possession of the gods. Old age has suddenly come upon them; Fricka totters, Wotan droops his head, the god of joy sees the roses of his crown fading, Thor no longer has his flashes of anger; the hammer which makes the lightning burst forth drops from his hand; youth, beauty, love are gone with Frya. Wotan suddenly resolves to go and conquer this longed-for gold. Accompanied by Loge, he descends to the gloomy kingdom, where the gnomes forge their metals ceaselessly. He soon gains the mastery over the Nibelung, possessor of the gold, which has already brought into subjection all the blacksmiths, and he carries him off with his treasures to the mountain of the gods. But the despoiled Nibelung still remains in possession of the all-powerful ring. He presses it between his fingers in supreme despair. It is in vain. Wotan wrests it from him, after which he leaves him free to return to the bowels of the earth. The vanquished Nibelung then rises, full of fury and despair. "May this ring be forever cursed!" he cries; "misfortune to the possessor of the gold; may he who has it not covet it with rage; may he who possesses it retain it in the anguish of fear; cursed! cursed!" and he replunges into the night of the Nibelung's home.
Frya has returned, and with her have joy and youth. The giants lay the Nibelung's gold before her. They desire a heap large enough to cover the goddess. She disappears, indeed, but her glance, like a star's ray, darts through an interstice. Alas! the treasure is exhausted; the ring only remains, which will just fill the fissure, but Wotan will not give it up. The gods entreat in vain, when a solemn voice is heard, and in a pale light slowly appears the ancient Erda, the pallid divinity, older than the world, from whom nothing is hidden. "Yield, Wotan," she says, "fly the cursed ring; I know what has been; I know what should be. Hearken! All that exists will have its end. A time will come when a sinister gloom will descend upon the gods. Separate thyself from the cursed ring, and reflect with terror." Erda disappears. Wotan, full of anxiety, casts the ring from him. Pride and strength, however, are now restored to the gods. Thor brandishes his hammer, and in a formidable and joyous voice invokes the wind and the clouds. The heavens become overcast, the lightning flashes, the thunder peals with a crash, and, while the rain descends in heavy drops, the Walhalla is disclosed on the mountain summit, and the rainbow stretches its semi-circle above the valley. The gods take the direction of this luminous bridge to enter into possession of the castle, which glitters in the setting sun. Then plaintive voices rise from the valley; it is the daughters of the Rhine lamenting their brilliant plaything; but the piercing music from the divine castle overpowers the Undines' voices, and the gods triumphant enter the Walhalla.
FIRST DAY: THE WALKYRIA.
Here begins the human drama. Wotan is troubled since Erda's sinister prediction, feeling that the shameful traffic which Walhalla has cost him has lessened his divinity and disturbed the world's equilibrium. Wotan has engendered a race of men of whom a hero shall be born, who by his own force will wrest the gold from the giants and restore it to its primeval place, thus expiating the fault of the gods. Sigmund is the hero chosen by Wotan for this redemption. When the curtain rises upon the second act it discloses the interior of a habitation of the early ages. A venerable ash raises its enormous trunk in the centre of the hall, and its verdant branches, extending in every direction, support the canvas roof. A large stone serves as fireplace; on the bare ground are spread skins of wild beasts; the gate is a high door made of the trunks of trees. The tempest rages without. Sigmund, who seems to be pursued by the angry heavens, enters staggering, and falls exhausted near the fire-place.
A young woman, attracted by the noise, appears, and bends over the stranger with compassionate surprise. Then, to revive him, she offers him a horn of mead. Sigmund raises his eyes toward her; their glances meet and remain fixed upon one another with an emotion rich with trouble. But the young man suddenly raises himself. "Farewell! farewell!" he cries, "I bear misfortune everywhere with me, let it at least be kept far from thee." "Ah! remain," she replies, quickly, "misfortune can do nothing where despair already reigns," and while once more they contemplate each other in silence, overcome by growing emotion, Hunding, the stern husband, the savage warrior, his helmet bristling with curious ornaments, shows himself on the threshold. "It is a guest, worn out with fatigue, who demands shelter," says Siglinda, answering her husband's look of inquiry. "Hospitality is sacred to me," says Hunding to the unknown; "may my house be sacred to thee," and with a gesture he orders the repast. Sigmund then relates from whence he is come. Vanquished in a combat with a neighboring chief, stripped of his arms, he was obliged to flee through the tempest. "Thou makest light of misfortune," cries Hunding; "the chief whom thou hast just named is my ally; thus hast thou chanced upon thy own mortal enemy. I accord thee shelter beneath my roof, however, until morning; afterward, out of my house, and let us meet in combat." And Hunding retires with a sombre mien, dragging with him Siglinda, who casts a despairing glance at the unfortunate guest.
Sigmund, spent with fatigue, falls again by the fireside, insensible. Where may he find strength with which to defend himself? Who will come to his aid in this bitter distress? Siglinda reappears. She has poured out the juices of a sleep-making plant for her husband. The stranger will be saved, provided he can wrench from the tree's trunk a marvellous sword, which an old man once thrust into it. Truly the sword is destined for Sigmund, for it yields at his first effort. Behold, it glistens in his hand. Henceforward he fears nothing. He will be able to defend the beloved woman, whom now he recognizes. Is she not his twin sister, formerly carried off from the devastated fireside? He will find her again, and wrest her from the enemy. "My love! my sister!" he cries, passionately. And folding her in his arms, he bears her from the sad dwelling through the moonlit forest.
In the second act we see again the mountains inhabited by the gods. Wotan joyously announces to Brunhild, the beautiful Walkyria, armed with silver helmet and cuirass, that to-day she must award the victory to Sigmund, the beloved hero of the gods. But while the happy Walkyria utters her war-cry, and bounds from summit to summit on her black horse, Fricka, the jealous goddess, protector of conjugal vows, arrives in her chariot, drawn by rams. She demands vengeance for the outraged Hunding. "This Sigmund whom thou protectest," she says, "is not the free hero who should redeem thee, for thou hast guided him, pushed him to this end. Sigmund must die." Wotan is overcome. The goddess is right. Sigmund has not acted by his own free-will. He must then abandon this unfortunate youth. The god, overpowered with grief, comes, however, to this conclusion. The hero, doomed to perish, must be conducted by the Walkyria to Walhalla. Here come the fugitives, pursued by the infuriated Hunding. Siglinda, at the end of her endurance, swoons in the arms of her fraternal lover. It is then that the saddened Walkyria shows herself to Sigmund. "Who art thou," he says, "who appearest to me so beautiful and so grave?" "Those who behold me have only a few hours to live," she replies. "Soon thou wilt follow me to the dwelling of the gods." "And Siglinda, will she come also?" he asks. "No; she must still live on earth." "Then thou deceivest thyself; I will not be separated from her, for we will both die here." And he raises his sword over Siglinda.
In the face of this love and sorrow, the Walkyria for the first time feels herself moved by a human emotion. "Stay!" she cries, "go without fear to the contest; I shall protect thee." Soon the savage Hunding shouts his defiance to Sigmund; the adversaries meet in battle upon a summit half lost in the clouds. Hunding is on the point of triumph; but the Walkyria appears in a light, and covers Sigmund with her buckler. Wotan, irritated by Brunhild's disobedience, shows himself also in a storm-cloud, and setting loose the lightning, shatters the sword in the hands of Sigmund, who falls mortally wounded.
The third act shows a rugged rock upon which Brunhild's sisters, the Walkyrias, reunite after the combat. Here they come in haste, riding through the clouds illuminated by the lightning; they call to one another joyously, with savage cries, striking their arms tumultuously. But Brunhild arrives all tearful; she has brought in her arms Siglinda, who does not wish to survive her lover. "Live!" she says to her, "live for the brave hero whom thou bearest in thy bosom." And she gives her the precious fragments of Sigmund's sword. "Save her, my sisters, save the poor woman," she adds; "for myself I must remain here to suffer the punishment of my fault." In fact, Wotan's voice resounds, full of anger. He soon rejoins the guilty goddess who has violated the supreme command. "I obeyed not thy order, but thy secret wish," says Brunhild. The god, alas! is not free, primordial laws enchain him; he cannot pardon. The fallen Walkyria must sleep upon the road at the mercy of the first comer who will find her. "So be it," she says; "but surround me with a sea of flames that he who will approach must at least be a hero." With what sadness does the god separate from his dearly-loved one, and take her divinity from her in a supreme kiss! She is now only a sleeping woman, around whom a flaming rampart is lighted.