After Sigmund's death Siglinda, having taken refuge in a wild forest, gave birth to a son, and died, confiding him to the Nibelung, Mime, whom Alberich, first possessor of the gold, had formerly forced to forge the all-powerful ring. The deformed dwarf had brought up the descendant of the gods in his cave, not in the spirit of devotion, but with the sole idea of making him of service later in the conquest of the gold, the object of all desires. Sigfrid is now a handsome youth, impetuous and uncontrollable, whose heroic spirits are awaking, and who dreams of conquering the world. Meanwhile he reigns master of the forest; the joyous sound of his silver horn replies to the birds' songs; the young madcap bounds with the roe and overthrows the deer. There he comes rushing into the cavern; his pealing laugh resounds. He drags after him, to Mime's terror, a black bear, which he has just got into his possession.
But these sports and contests satisfy him no longer. Impatiently he questions the dwarf in regard to the world, to him unknown; he wishes to get away, leave the forest never to return. Mime then shows him the fragments of the sword shattered by the lightning in Sigmund's hands. Siglinda has bequeathed it to her son as the most precious of inheritances. Sigfrid takes possession of these fragments of steel, lights the forge fire, and throws the pieces into the crucible. Then raising the heavy hammer with a triumphal song he completely reforges Wotan's sword. He soon brandishes it, still smoking, and with a single blow he cleaves in two the anvil, henceforward useless.
Mime then conducts the young hero to the wildest part of the forest, before the cave where the giant Fafner, in the form of a dragon, guards the gold wrested from the Nibelung. Sigfrid, laughing all the while at his hideous aspect, fights with and kills the monster. He disdains the treasure, taking only the ring, of whose power he is ignorant, and a magic helmet which permits the wearer to assume any form. The young man, as if weary, throws himself at the foot of a tree all bathed in sunlight; he listens dreamily to the thousand rustlings of the forest. An unknown desire stirs his heart. While the birds fly in couples he is alone. He thinks of his mother, of this mysterious being, man's companion, whom he has never seen, and of whom he knows nothing. The song of a bird flying over his head finally captivates his attention. He listens; he seems to comprehend the meaning of this song. The bird speaks to him. May it not be his mother's soul? "Ah, Sigfrid," it says, "now thou possesses! the treasure, thou should'st conquer the most beautiful of women. She sleeps upon a high rock, surrounded by flames; but shouldst thou dare to pass through the furnace, the war-like virgin would be thine." And Sigfrid, filled with enthusiasm, follows the bird, which takes its flight as if to guide him toward the lovely bride.
In the third act we see Wotan again. Leaning over the brink of a gulf, in gloomy anguish, he invokes Erda, the lurid goddess who sees the world's destinies; he will question her once again in regard to this fall of the gods, which she has announced to him. At this sovereign voice the sleeper rouses herself; with half-closed eyes she slowly rises from the abyss, wrapped in her dull veils, and covered with dew. But she has no further information to give to Wotan. The end is inevitable. As if submerged by their own creation the gods will become effaced before men. "So be it," cries Wotan, wearied perhaps of his divinity; "it is to this end that I aspire." However, when Sigfrid, leaping from rock to rock, his eyes fixed upon his winged guide, passes near Wotan, this latter tries to bar his way; but the free and fearless hero breaks the god's lance with a single blow of the sword which, without assistance, he has forged for himself. Then he rushes joyously to the assault of the burning rampart, passes fearlessly through the furnace, beholds at last the sleeping warrior in her silver cuirass; and, all quivering with love, awakens her with a kiss.
THIRD DAY: GLOOM OF THE GODS.
Under the nocturnal shade of an ash as old as the world itself the three Fates spin and weave men's destinies. Their cold gaze is plunged into the future, where they see only distress and malediction. They throw from one to the other the thread which they have been spinning uninterruptedly from the beginning of time. But suddenly the thread snaps in their hands; the sombre spinners, seized with fear, press closely together, and descend to the depths of the earth to take refuge near the wise Erda. Then day breaks. Sigfrid and Brunhilda, supporting one another, come out of the mysterious grotto which shelters their happiness. The goddess has divested herself of her divinity for her dearly-loved hero; she has unveiled to him the mysteries of the sacred ruins and the knowledge of the gods; but it now appears to her that she has given nothing to him who has revealed love to her. It is necessary that Sigfrid should leave her for a time, and that he should go in search of new exploits. It is he who thenceforward will wear the Walkyria's armor, and bound upon the savage courser who formerly sped with the storm. Before his departure the hero gives to Brunhilda the gold ring, which to the lovers is only a pledge of fidelity, and they part after taking a mutual oath of eternal love.
In his adventurous course through the world, Sigfrid arrives at the dwelling of Gunter, a powerful chief on the Rhinish borders. Gutrune, his lovely sister, lives with this warrior, also the sinister Hagen, whom Alberich, the Nibelung, has begotten of a woman whom he misled, by the attraction of the gold. The Nibelung has bequeathed his hatred toward the offspring of the gods to his son, and has charged him to regain the all-powerful ring. Hagen is already plotting Sigfrid's ruin, when this latter crosses the threshold, with joyous impetuosity, crying to Gunter, "Fight with me, or let us be friends!" The chief receives him amicably, and Gutrune, advised by Hagen, pours out for him a fatal draught, which will disturb his mind to such a degree as to efface all remembrance. The young girl's resplendent eyes complete his infatuation, and he soon forgets Brunhilda and her love; his new passion has obliterated everything, and he demands his host's sister in marriage. "Give her to him," breathes Hagen to Gunter, "on condition that he shall go and conquer for thee the marvellous woman sleeping in the midst of the flames." Brunhilda's name makes no impression upon Sigfrid's soul; he remembers no longer. Certainly he will go without delay to the conquest of this bride for his brother-in-arms, and without tarrying further, he takes his departure, impatient to return.
Soon the fallen goddess, crushed and stupefied, is brought to Gunter. Sigfrid, after wresting from her the ring, symbol of constant tenderness, has dragged her by force to deliver her over to a stranger, while he now hastens into the arms of another woman. As the love of the daughter of the gods was sublime and absolute, so is her anger terrible in the face of this betrayal. Sigfrid is doomed to death. It is only by death that Brunhilda can reconquer the radiant hero to whom she has given all. He is destined to perish at the hunt, treacherously struck. The daughters of the Rhine emerge from the waves to warn him, at the same time demanding from him the ring, which envelopes him with its malediction; but Sigfrid refuses to restore it to them. Soon after, while he is giving his companions a recital of his life, seeing again little by little the thread of his memory, Hagen suddenly and treacherously strikes him with his lance. The hero sinks to the earth and dies, pronouncing the name, once more recalled, of Brunhilda. The warriors, in consternation, lay Sigfrid's body upon his buckler, and carry him slowly away in the light of the pale rising moon.
In the last scene a groaning crowd bears Sigfrid's body under the massive portals of Gunter's dwelling, gloomily lighted by torches, and mingles its lament with the dull roar of the Rhine, whose dark waves flow in the background. Gutrune bursts into tears of despair, but Brunhilda, solemnly advancing, puts an end to this clamor. "I have heard," she says, "the tears of children lamenting their mother, but no lament worthy of a hero." Then she commands a vast funeral pile to be built, and when it has been lighted with a torch, and Sigfrid laid upon it, contemplating him with indescribable emotion, she withdraws from his finger the fatal ring, the cause of all misfortunes. "Suffering has made me prophetic," she says: "those who should efface the fault of the gods are predestined to misfortune and death. May our sacrifice put an end to the curse. May the ring be purified by fire. May the waters dissolve it forever! The end of the gods is at hand. But if I leave the world without a master, I bequeath to men the most sublime treasure in my knowledge. Know, then, that neither gold, nor divine splendor, nor omnipotence, gives happiness. Happiness, in joy or in suffering, comes from love alone." She has her horse brought to her by a Walkyria, and, leaping into the saddle, with one bound she rushes into the furnace. Then the Rhine overflows tumultuously, dispersing the ashes of the funeral pile. The daughters of the Rhine joyously lift up the reconquered ring, while Hagen, who had rushed forward to seize it again, is carried away with the flood, and on the heights in a dim light the Walhalla is seen crumbling about the gods, who fade away, and become effaced.