Kitabı oku: «The Classic Myths in English Literature and in Art (2nd ed.) (1911)», sayfa 28
CHAPTER XXIX
THE RING OF THE NIBELUNG
284. Wagner's Tetralogy. In his famous Ring of the Nibelung the German composer, Richard Wagner, returns to the Norse version of the stories recounted in the chapter preceding this. He is responsible not only for the musical score of the four operas of which the Ring consists, but for the text and scenic arrangement as well. As musical dramas the four plays constitute the grandest series of the kind that the world possesses. But even if they were not wedded to such music, the Rhine-gold, the Valkyrie, the Siegfried, and the Twilight (or Dusk) of the Gods would be entitled, for creative invention, imaginative insight and power, and poetic diction, to rank with notable dramas, ancient or modern. The tetralogy (or series of four) presents the whole story of the accursed Nibelung gold, from that dawn when it was wrested from the daughters of the Rhine to that dusk when it was restored, having wrought meanwhile the doom of Nibelungs, Volsungs, and the gods themselves.
285. The Rhine-gold. We are at the bottom of the Rhine: a greenish twilight, and moving water, and everywhere sharp points of rocks jutting from the depths. Around the central rock three Rhine-daughters swim, guarding it carefully, but laughing and playing, and chasing one the other as they guard. To them from a chasm climbs Alberich, the Nibelung, he who in the old Norse lay was known as Andvari. He views the maidens with increasing pleasure. He addresses them, he clambers after them, he strives to catch them; they lure him on, they mock him and escape his grasp; he woos them each in turn, all unsuccessfully. He gazes upward – "Could I but catch one"; then once more failing, remains in speechless rage. Rage soon transformed to wonder: for through the water from above there filters a brightening glow, a magical light, streaming from the summit of the central rock where in the splendor of the morning sun the Rhine-gold laughs a-kindle.
Has he never heard of the Rhine-gold? they ask. Of the wondrous star whose glory lightens the waves? He has not. He scorns it.
"The golden charm," cries one of the maidens, —
"The golden charm
Wouldst thou not flout
Knewest thou all of its wonders."
"The world's wealth," jeers another,
"Could be won by a man
If out of the Rhine-gold
He fashioned the Ring
That measureless might can bestow…
He who the sway
Of love forswears,
He who delight
Of love forbears,
Only he can master the magic
That forces the gold to a ring!"
"But we fear not thee – oh, no – for thou burnest in love for us."
So, lightly sing the Rhine-daughters; but Alberich, with his eyes on the gold, has heeded well their chatter. "The world's wealth," he mutters; "might I win that by the spell of the gold? Nay, though love be the forfeit, my cunning shall win me delight." Then terribly loud he cries,
"Mock ye, mock on!
The Nibelung neareth your toy; – "
then, clambering with haste to the summit,
"My hand, it quenches your light;
I wrest from the rock your gold;
I fashion the ring of revenge;
Now, hear me, ye floods —
Accursèd be love henceforth."
Tearing the gold from the rock, he plunges into the depths and disappears. After him dive the maidens. In vain. Far, far below, from Nibelheim rises the mocking laughter of Alberich, Lord of the Gold.
The scene changes. An open space on a mountain height becomes visible. The dawning day lights up a castle, glittering with pinnacles, on the top of a cliff. Below flows silent the Rhine. At one side, on a flowery bank, Wotan (Odin), king of the gods, lies sleeping, and Fricka (Frigga) his wife. They wake. Wotan turns toward his castle, new-built by the giants, and exults; but Fricka reminds him of the terrible price that is yet to be paid for its building, – none other, forsooth, than the person of Freia, the fair one, the goddess of spring and love, she who tends the garden of the gods, and whose apples, eaten from day to day, confer eternal youth, – she is the wage that the giants will claim.
"I mind me well of the bargain," returns Wotan, "but I give no thought to fulfill it. My castle stands; for the wage – fret not thyself."
"Oh, laughing, impious lightness," reproves him Fricka, "thy bargain is fast, and is still to rue."
Nay, on the moment rushes Freia to them, pleading, pursued by the giants. "Give her to us!" they cry, – Fasolt and Fafner, mighty twain that unslumbering had reared the walls of Wotan's castle, to win them a woman, winsome and sweet.
"Now pay us our wage!"
"Nay," coolly answers Wotan, "other guerdon ask. Freia may I not grant!"
But the giants insist. They accuse the god of faithlessness. He jests with them, temporizing, awaiting anxiously the arrival of Loge (Loki), spirit of cunning, at whose suggestion that bargain had been struck. For even then Loge had secretly assured Wotan that Freia should in the emergency be ransomed. The giants, indignant at the delay, press on Freia. She calls on her brothers, Froh (Freyr) and Donner (Thor). They rush to her rescue: Froh clasps the fair one; Donner plants himself before the importunates.
"Know ye the weight of my hammer's blow?" thunders he.
There is battle in the air.
Then enters Loge, demon of fire, mischief-maker, traitor, and thief, whom long ago Wotan had lifted from his evil brood and of him made a friend and counselor.
"Now hear, crabbèd one; keep thy word," says Wotan, sharply.
Loge appears to be nonplussed. He has restlessly searched to the ends of the world to find a ransom for Freia; "but naught is so rich that giant or man will take it as price for a woman's worth and delight." He has sought amid the forces of water and earth and air; "but naught is so mighty that giant or man will prefer it above a woman's worth and delight!" And yet, – slyly Loge lets fall the word, – there is the ruddy Gold:
"Yea, one I looked on, but one, who love's delights forswore, for ruddy gold renouncing the wealth of woman's grace."
And he recounts the marvels of the Rhine-gold. The giants offer to take it in lieu of Freia; nay, gods and goddesses as well are held by the charm of the glittering hoard; by the lure, and the dread too, of the Ring that, once fashioned, gives measureless might to its lord. Even now, doubtless, he who has forsworn love has muttered the magic rune and rounded the sovereign circlet of gold. If so, the gods themselves shall be his slaves, – slaves of the Nibelung Alberich.
"The ring I must win me," decides Wotan.
"But at the cost of love?" queries Froh.
Loge counsels the theft of the gold from Alberich and its restoration to the daughters of the Rhine. But the gods are not thus far-sighted, and the giants insist upon the hoard as their due. They seize Freia, and bear her away as pledge till that ransom be paid…
"Alack, what aileth the gods?"
It is Loge who speaks. A pale mist falls upon the scene, gradually growing denser. The light of the heavenly abodes is quenched. Wotan and all his clan become increasingly wan and aged. Freia of the Garden is departed: the apples of youth are decaying; "old and gray, worn and withered, the scoff of the world, dies out the godly race!"
"Up, Loge," calls Wotan, dismayed, "descend with me. To Nibelheim go we together. To win back our youth, the golden ransom must I gain."
The scene changes to Nibelheim, the subterranean home of the Nibelungs. Wotan and Loge find Mime, Alberich's brother, bewailing the fate of the Nibelungs – for Alberich has fashioned the Ring and all below groan under his tyranny. Even now, reluctantly indeed, Mime is forging the Tarnhelm for his tyrant brother, – a wishing-cap by whose magic the wearer may transfer himself through space and assume whatever form he please, or make himself invisible, at will. Alberich, in the flush of power, enters, driving before him with brandished whip a host of Nibelungs from the caverns. They are laden with gold and silver handiwork. At Alberich's command they heap it in a pile. He draws the Ring from his finger; the vanquished host trembles and, shrieking, cowers away.
"What seek ye here?" demands he, looking long and suspiciously at Wotan and Loge.
They have heard strange tidings, says Wotan, and they come to see the wonders that Alberich can work. Then Loge induces the Nibelung lord to exhibit the virtues of the Tarnhelm. Readily beguiled, he displays his necromantic power. First he transforms himself into a loathly dragon. The gods pretend dismay: – he can make himself great; can he make himself small, likewise? "Pah, nothing simpler! Look at me now!" He dons the Tarnhelm, and lo, a toad!
"There, grasp quickly," says Loge. Wotan places his foot on the toad, and Loge seizes the Tarnhelm. Alberich becomes visible in his own form, writhing under Wotan's foot. The gods bind him and drag him to the chasm by which they had descended.
The scene changes to the open space before Valhalla. Alberich, dragged in by Loge, is forced to deliver up the hoard and the Tarnhelm and the Ring. Wotan contemplates the Ring and puts it on. Alberich is set at liberty.
"Am I now free?" cries he, "free in sooth? Thus greets you then my freedom's foremost word: As by curse it came to me, accursed forever be this Ring! As its gold gave measureless might, let now its magic deal death to its lord. Its wealth shall yield pleasure to none. Care shall consume him who doth hold it. All shall lust after its delights; yet naught shall it boot him who wins the prize! To its lord no gain let it bring; and forever be murder drawn in its wake, till again once more in my hand, rewon, I hold it!"
So the baffled Nibelung curses, and departs. Then enter Fricka, Donner, and Froh, followed soon by the giants, who bring Freia back. They refuse, Fasolt and Fafner, to release the fair goddess until she is fully redeemed; and they claim not only Tarnhelm and gold, but Ring as well. With the Ring Wotan refuses to part. In that moment rises from a rocky cleft the goddess of the earth, Erda, the beloved of heaven's god, and mother by him of the Valkyries.
"Yield it, Wotan, yield it," she cries warningly. "Flee the Ring's dread curse."
"What woman warneth me thus?"
"All that e'er was, know I," pronounces Erda:
"How all things are;
How all things shall be.
Hear me! hear me! hear me!
All that e'er was, endeth:
A darksome day
Dawns for your godhood!
Be counseled; give up the Ring."
She vanishes, the all-wise one; and Wotan surrenders the Ring. Freia is redeemed, and the gods glow again with youth. No sooner have the giants gained possession of the Ring than they proceed to quarrel over it. Fafner strikes out with his staff and stretches Fasolt on the ground. From the dying man he hastily wrests the Ring, puts it into his sack, and goes on quietly packing the gold. In a solemn silence the gods stand horrified. Care and fear fetter the soul of Wotan. That he may shake himself free of them he determines to descend to Erda; she yet can give him counsel. But first, – for Donner has cleared with his thunder and lightning the clouds that had overspread the scene, – he will enter "Valhalla," his castle, golden-gleaming in the evening sunlight.
"What meaneth the name, then?" asks Fricka, as they cross the rainbow bridge.
Wotan evades the question, for he still dreads the curse pronounced by the Nibelung upon all who have owned the Ring; and that name, "Valhalla," indicates just the means by which he hopes to escape the curse. He has thought to avert the doom of the gods by gathering in this Valhalla, or Hall of the Slain, the spirits of heroes fallen in battle – especially of heroes of a race that shall spring from himself, the Volsungs (or Wälsungs) yet to be born. They shall do battle for the gods when sounds the crack of doom. But of all this Wotan says naught. He will say in the hour of his triumph.
As the gods enter Valhalla the plaints of the Rhine-maidens for the loss of their gold arise from the river below.
286. In The Valkyrie Wotan proceeds with his plan. During his wanderings on earth, under the name of Wälse, he has become the father of twin children, Siegmund and Sieglinde. These have, in early youth, been separated by the murderous turmoil of warring clans, but now they are to be reunited; and Wotan, with a primitive disregard of the fact that they are brother and sister, intends to make them man and wife, in order that from them may issue the heroic race that, in the latter days, shall defend Valhalla from the onslaught of the powers of evil.
The play opens with the interior of a woodland lodge. In the center rises the stem of a mighty ash tree, about which has been built an apartment of roughly hewn logs. It is toward evening and a violent thunderstorm is just subsiding. This is the home of Hunding, chieftain of the Neiding clan. The door opens, and Siegmund, flying from his enemies, wounded and weaponless, enters. Seeing no one, he closes the door, strides toward the fire, and throws himself wearily down on a bearskin:
"Whoe'er own this hearth,
Here must I rest me."
He remains stretched out motionless. A woman enters from an inner chamber. It is Sieglinde. She takes compassion on the helpless fugitive, admires his noble bearing, gives him drink, and bids him tarry till her husband be home. They gaze upon each other with ever-increasing interest and emotion. Suddenly Siegmund starts up as if to go.
"Who pursues thee?" she inquires.
"Ill fate pursues where'er I go. To thee, wife, may it never come. Forth from thy house I fly."
She calls him back. "Then bide thou here. Thou canst not bring ill fate where ill fate already makes its home."
He leans against the hearth. Again the eyes of the twain meet.
Hunding enters, regards the stranger with suspicion, notes the resemblance between him and Sieglinde; but he consents to harbor him for the night.
"Thy name and fortune?"
"Wehwalt," says Siegmund, "for woe still waits on my steps; Wehwalt, the son of Wolfe." And thus concealing his race, he tells a story in other respects true: how in his childhood a cruel host had laid waste his home and killed his mother and carried away the sister who was his twin, and how he and his father, the Wolf, for years had battled in the woodlands against the Neidings.
The Neidings! They are Hunding's clan.
"My house holds thee, Wölfing, to-night. To-morrow defend thee; with death thou shalt pay for this life!" And Hunding withdraws, Sieglinde with him.
Siegmund is weaponless. The firelight sends a sudden glow upon the ash tree, and a sword-hilt there sends back an answering gleam. But Siegmund knows not what it means. Clad in white, Sieglinde steals from the inner room. She has left Hunding asleep, overcome by a slumberous draft.
"Thy coming is life," cries Siegmund.
"A weapon, now, let me show thee," she replies. And she tells how, on the day of her unhappy wedding, a stranger, all in gray, low-hatted and one-eyed, had entered the Hunding hall and struck into the ash stem a sword that none but the bravest of heroes could win, and how all in turn had tried in vain to draw forth the sword. Now she knows for whom it was ordained, —
"It was for thee, my deliverer, my hero held in my arms!"
They embrace. He declares his lineage. He is son of him whose eye proudly glistened from under the low-brimmed hat, – son of Wälse, the wanderer. He is Siegmund, the Victorious. For him, the sword Nothung. – And he draws it easily forth.
"Art thou Siegmund?" she cries; "Sieglinde am I. Thine own twin sister thou winnest at once with the sword."
"Bride and sister be to thy brother; then nourish the Wälsungs for aye!"
So the twain make their compact.
In the second act we are transported to a wild and rocky place. Before Wotan, fully armed and carrying his spear, stands Brünnhilde, the warrior maid, likewise fully armed. She is one of the nine Valkyries, daughters of Wotan and Erda, fostered for battle that they might forfend the doom foretold by Erda herself, – the shameful defeat of the gods. Well have the Valkyrs, choosers of the slain, performed their task, stirring mortal hearts to battle and riding through the air above to designate the bravest for death, and with their spirits to fill the halls on Valhalla's height. Now, however, Wotan is ordering Brünnhilde to haste to the fray, – not on death's errand but on errand of life, – to shield Siegmund the Wälsung in the fight. The Valkyrie springs shouting from rock to rock, and disappears behind the mountain crags.
All seems to be arranged. But lo, Fricka, in her ram-drawn car! She descends and strides toward her scheming spouse. The goddess has heard the cry of Hunding, calling for vengeance on the twinborn pair who have rashly wrought him wrong; and as guardian of wedlock she demands the death of Siegmund in the coming conflict. Wotan tries to persuade her that Siegmund's success is needful to the gods, – the warrior band of mortal souls gathered by the Valkyries in the heights of Valhalla cannot alone suffice to avert the onslaught of the powers of darkness.
"Needed is one who, free from help of godhood, fights free of the godhead's control. Only such an one is meet for the deed which is denied to a god to achieve."
But Fricka is not to be deceived nor thwarted in her aim. She brushes aside the plea of Wotan and his subterfuge, – who has ever heard that heroes can accomplish what the gods cannot? And as for heroes unaided – none such is Siegmund.
"Who was it," she asks, "that brought him his conquering sword? and whose shield is ordained to cover him in the fight?"
"I cannot o'erthrow him," breaks out Wotan; "he has found my sword."
"Destroy its magic then," retorts the implacable queen. "Give word to thy shouting war-maid that Siegmund fall!"
Wotan is conquered. Sadly he revokes the order given to Brünnhilde.
"Then takest thou from Siegmund thy shield?" cries that one in amazement.
And the god: "Yea! though Alberich's host threaten our downfall; though again the Ring be won by the Nibelung, and Valhalla be lost forever. By bargains bound myself, I may not wrest the Ring from the foeman, from Fafner the giant. Therefore, to fulfill my purpose, I had thought to create a Free One who for me should fight. Now, with loathing, I find ever myself in all my hand has created. The Other for whom I have longed, that Other I never shall find. Himself must the Free One create him; my hand shapes nothing but slaves. For when this hand of mine touched Alberich's Ring, my heart grew greedy of gold. I fled from the curse, but the curse flies not from me. What I love best must I surrender; whom most I cherish, I must slay. One thing awaits me yet – the downfall! Yea, that portended Erda, – Erda, the all-wise.
"'When the dusky foe,' she said, —
'When the dusky foe of love
Grimly getteth a son,
The doom of the gods
Delays not long!'
And of late I have heard that the Nibelung has bought him a wife. Their son shall inherit, – their son, the child of spite, shall inherit the empty pomp of the gods!"
It was of Hagen, yet unborn, the baleful curse of the Volsungs, of Hagen, the traitor, that Erda had prophesied. And thus dimly is foreshadowed the Twilight of the Gods.
But Brünnhilde?
"Siegmund thou hast taught me to love," murmurs the Valkyrie. Then boldly, —
"For his sake thy wavering word I defy!"
The war-father turns in wrath upon this new rebellion, and on pain of eternal penalty enjoins upon his daughter her new duty:
"Fight truly for Fricka! Siegmund strike thou! Such be the Valkyrie's task!"
The war-maid seeks out Siegmund and announces to him his approaching death. But that hero's distress at the thought of parting from Sieglinde stirs her to the quick. And, in the moment of battle, Brünnhilde disobeys the All-father's injunction; – she shields the warrior whom she loves. Then suddenly appears Wotan, standing over Hunding and holding his spear across in front of Siegmund.
"Go back from the spear! In splinters the sword!" shouts the god.
In terror Brünnhilde sinks back. Siegmund's sword breaks on the outstretched spear, and Hunding pierces the Volsung's breast. Brünnhilde hastily gathers the bits of the broken sword, lifts Sieglinde to horse, and escapes through the gorges behind.
The scene changes to the Valkyries' rocky home. Through the drifting clouds come riding the eight sisters of Brünnhilde, in full armor each, and each bearing before her the body of some slain hero. They await Brünnhilde. She, fleeing from Wotan's pursuit, at last arrives. She implores them to shield Sieglinde from the wrath of the god, but unsuccessfully; and then she urges Sieglinde to fly. At first, benumbed by despair, the widowed woman refuses; but when Brünnhilde mentions the child that is to be born – the world's most glorious hero – she consents.
"Him thou shalt bear, thy son and Siegmund's. For him ward thou well these mighty splinters of his father's sword. He shall weld them anew and swing the victorious blade! His name from me let him take – 'Siegfried'; for Siegfried in triumph shall live!"
Comforted and hopeful, Sieglinde betakes herself to that forest far to the east, where the Nibelung's hoard had been borne by Fafner. There, in dragon's form, he guarded the gold and the Ring; and thither Wotan is not likely to pursue.
It thunders and lightens. Wotan, raging terribly, strides from crag to crag. The other Valkyries are driven from the scene. Brünnhilde hears her doom:
"The heavenly host
No more shall know thee;
Outcast art thou
From the clan of the gods:
The bond by thee has been broken;
Henceforth from sight of my face art thou banned!"
Immortal, she had followed the might of love; mortal, now she shall sleep, and that sleep shall endure till one comes to awaken her; and to him, whosoe'er it may be, she shall be subject thenceforth.
The Valkyrie drops to her knees:
"Ah, let no craven awake me!" she cries. "Surround me with horrors, with fires that shall fright: that none but the most fearless of heroes may find me here on the fell!"
Wotan accedes to her petition. He kisses her on both eyes and lays her unconscious, asleep, in the shade of a broad-branching fir tree. Then, —
"Appear! Come, waving fire,
And wind thee in flames round the fell!
Loge, Loge, appear!"
A sea of flames encircles the spot, and Wotan proclaims:
"He who my spear-point's
Sharpness feareth
Shall cross not this flaming fire!"
Alone, under her long steel shield, sleeps the Valkyrie.
287. Siegfried. The drama of Siegfried opens in the cavern of Mime, in the forest "far to the east" to which Sieglinde had fled. Mime, the dwarf, is he whom erstwhile his Nibelung brother, Alberich, then lord of the Ring, had held in thrall at the bottom of the Rhine. Some years before the events represented in this play, the dwarf had found Sieglinde dying in the woods, and had received from her Siegfried, her new-born son, and with him the pieces of Siegmund's broken sword, Nothung.
Young Siegfried, noble, proud, and strong, has been nurtured in ignorance of his lineage and destiny, as Mime's son. But of that lineage and destiny the cunning dwarf is well aware; and while he trains Siegfried to doughty deeds, he ceaselessly forges at the splinters of the sword, hoping to reweld them himself and through Siegfried's might to win victory over Fafner, the present lord of the Ring, and so achieve unmeasured wealth and the mastery of the world. But Siegfried despises his foster-father and seeks ever to discover the story of his own descent. The attempts of Mime to shape anew the pieces of Nothung fail; and he daily forges other swords, which Siegfried scorns and breaks at the first trial. In the course of time, however, there comes to Mime's cave a "Wanderer" – it is Wotan himself – and tells the dwarf that only one, a man who knows not fear, can remake the all-conquering sword. He tells him, too, of the mighty spear, fashioned of the world ash tree's hallowed branches, with which he, Wotan, rules the earth. But no word he says of the doom that is to befall that spear at the blow of the conquering sword, – the doom, forsooth, of the gods themselves.
Mime, after trying in vain to arouse in Siegfried the sense of fear, suggests to the youth that he try to reforge Nothung. Siegfried seizes the splinters, pounds them, and files them to powder; melts them over the charcoal of the ash tree's stem, and, singing at his work, refashions the sword. While this is doing, through the pauses of Siegfried's song can be heard the voice of Mime, muttering: "The sword will be forged … and Fafner vanquished… When Siegfried has slain that dragon … he will be athirst… I will brew him a drink… One drop will lay him in sleep… With the sword that he forges I'll kill him… Mine, then, the Ring and the hoard!"
At last the sword is shaped and sharpened. Siegfried swings it before him:
"Nothung, Nothung, conquering sword; again to life have I woke thee! Strike at the traitor, cut down the knave! See, Mime, thou smith; so sunders Siegfried's sword!" and he strikes the anvil in twain from top to bottom. It falls asunder with a great noise, and the dwarf drops with terror to the ground.
The scene changes to the forest in front of Fafner's cave. Alberich is watching gloomily by, and the Wanderer rides in to taunt him with false hope of the Ring.
"A hero nears to set free the hoard," says the Wanderer. "Fafner will fall. Perchance if Alberich warn the dragon, he may win the Ring in token of gratitude."
Alberich makes the approaches. Fafner yawns: "I have and I hold; let me slumber!"
With scornful laughter the Wanderer rides away. But "one day," snarls Alberich, – "one day shall I see you all fade, ye light-hearted eternals. The wise one keepeth his watch and surely worketh his spite!"
As the day breaks Siegfried and Mime enter, Siegfried wearing his sword hung in a girdle of rope, and blithely blowing a horn. Fafner, in the shape of a huge lizardlike dragon, comes out of his cave and forward to the stream for water. At sight of the nonchalant youth piping his wood-notes gay, the monster emits a snort that serves his need of a laugh, – "I came for drink; now, too, I find food."
The conflict is speedily joined. More than once Siegfried is well-nigh lost; but his chance comes. The dragon exposes his heart, and Siegfried sinks his sword into it up to the hilt. In the moment of death, Fafner warns the young hero to beware of him who stirred him to the fight. But Siegfried pays little heed. The blood of the dragon bespatters his hand; it burns. Siegfried involuntarily carries his hand to his lips. There is a wood bird singing. Siegfried regards him with astonishment. "Almost," he says, "it seems as wood birds were speaking to me," and he hearkens.
"Hei!" sings the wood bird; "now Siegfried owns all the Nibelung's hoard. Let him but search the cavern, and hoard, Tarnhelm, and Ring will make him the lord of the world!"
"Thanks, dearest birdling," Siegfried replies, and possesses himself of Tarnhelm and Ring. The hoard he leaves where it was.
"Hei!" sings the wood bird; "Ring and Tarnhelm Siegfried has won. Now let him not trust the treacherous tongue of the falsest of friends!"
No sooner is that warning given than Mime, who has meanwhile been wrangling with Alberich over the division of the spoils, creeps forward.
"See, thou art weary; drink of the broth I have brewed, and take rest," he says smilingly to Siegfried. But under his breath he is muttering, "Drink, and choke thee to death," as he pours the draft into the drink horn and offers it.
"Taste thou my sword, loathsome babbler!" cries the young hero, and strikes him dead at a blow; then pitches his body on top of the hoard and stops up the mouth of the cave with the grinning corpse of the dragon.
"Thanks, friendliest birdling! But happiness yet have I not. Brothers and sisters hast thou; but I – am so alone; nor brother nor sister, nor father nor mother. One comrade had I; he laid out to catch me, and now I have slain him, perforce. Ah, birdling, find me a comrade true!"
"Hei!" chatters the wood bird; "a glorious bride for Siegfried have I. On a rocky fastness she sleeps, and guarded by fire is her home. Who fighteth the flames wakens the maid; Brünnhilde, Brünnhilde, he wins for his own!"
"Where'er thou fliest, follows my foot," shouts Siegfried, bubbling with joy.
The scene changes. In a wild spot at the foot of a rocky mountain Wotan, the Wanderer, desiring the success of Siegfried and still knowing that that success involves the doom of the gods, seeks counsel from Erda. The all-wise one refuses to answer, – refers him to the Norns. "The Norns are waking, they wind the rope. The Norns will give thee answer!"
"Ah, no!" replies the Wanderer. "Their weaving is ever in thrall to fate. To thee I come that I may learn how to stay the wheel that is already rolling."
"Ask Brünnhilde!"
"In vain, All-wise One; the piercing sting of care was planted by thee. Ruin and downfall were foretold by thee. Say to me, now, how a god may conquer his care!"
"Thou art —not what thou hast said." No more will Erda vouchsafe.
Not what he has said! Then, surely, the gods are beyond redemption. But not even so shall the harvest be reaped by the Nibelungs. "Nay, to the Volsung shall be my heritage," decrees Wotan: "to him who has known me never, though chosen by me; to the lad of dauntless daring, though untaught by my counsel. Pure from greed, gladdened by love-dreams, he has won the Nibelung's Ring. Against him the curse of Alberich cannot avail."
While yet the Wanderer is speaking, Erda descends to endless sleep. Dawn illumines the scene. Siegfried's bird comes fluttering to the foreground, but, frighted by vision of the god, takes wing and disappears. Siegfried presses on.
"My birdling has flown from my eyes," he remarks. "I needs must find out the rock for myself."
"The way that the wood bird pointed," announces Wotan, encountering him, "shalt thou not pass!"
"Ho ho! Wouldst thou stay me? Who art thou, then, that here withstandest?"
"Fear the fell's defender! By my might the slumbering maid is held enchained. He who should wake her, he who should win her, mightless would make me forever. Go back, then, foolhardy boy!"
