"'Tis true, 'tis true! We are fainting, dying! What is to be done?"
"Get the gold quickly from Alberich, and redeem the Goddess," the tricky Spirit of Flame answered with decision. "That is why they have taken Freïa. Well those Giants know that without her and her apples ye must die; thus they will overcome the good of the Gods. Ye must redeem her before the evening comes, or ye all must die."
"Up, Loge!" Wotan cried desperately. "Down to Nibelheim with me. The gold must be ours. Oh, death! stay thy hand an hour till We can buy back our youth and everlasting life!" Loge interrupted him, narrowly eyeing him:
"The gold belongs to the Rhein-daughters. It should be returned to them."
"Cease thy babbling," Wotan shouted, "and get thee down to Nibelheim."
"Shall we not go through the river Rhein?" Loge craftily asked.
"Get thee through that sulphurous cleft," Wotan answered, pointing to the deep fissure in the rock. "Swing thyself down and I will follow thee." He no sooner ceased to speak than Loge swung himself into the black abyss, and a frightful, sulphurous vapour arose from the opening.
"Await us here till evening," Wotan charged the Gods and Fricka, and he in turn disappeared.
As Wotan followed Loge into the abyss, such clouds of vapour arose as to hide the Gods completely, and as Fricka called "farewell" through the mist the earth began slowly to rise, showing the descent of Wotan and Loge. Their passage through the earth was long and filled with astounding sights. It grew blacker and blacker, but after a time they saw the far-off glow of forge-fires, and heard the sound of hammers ringing upon anvils. These things, too, passed them by, and on a sudden, they found themselves in the midst of a large open space, formed by a cavern in the rock.