Richard Wagner was born in Leipzig, on the 22d of May, 1813. His father was Chief of Police and his mother was Johanna Rosina Bertz.

His brothers and sisters were distinguished singers or actors; thus love of dramatic art was common to all the family. His father died and his mother married an actor, Ludwig Geyer. The stepfather became very fond of young Richard and intended to make a painter of him, but upon hearing him play some of his sister’s piano pieces Geyer wondered if it were possible that he had the gift of music!

Wagner was a poor scholar during his school days, the only thing he especially enjoyed being literature, mainly Shakespeare, Sophocles, and Aeschylus; and about the time the dramatic philosophies of these men filled his attention, he wrote a great drama in which there were forty-two characters, every one of whom was killed or died in the course of the play, so that he was compelled to finish his performance with the spectres of his original characters. Later he wished to put music to that remarkable drama, and he did so, much to the distraction of his family. It was actually performed. He thus described his composition:

This was the culmination of my absurdities. What I did, above all things wrong, was a roll fortissimo upon the kettle-drums, which returned regularly every four bars throughout the composition. The surprise which the public experienced changed first to unconcealed ill-humour, and then into laughter, which greatly mortified me.

It was under Theodor Weinlig’s teaching that he finally developed a fixed purpose of composition and something like regular study.

When he first wished to marry, he could not for lack of money to provide a home for his wife. In time this difficulty was overcome, and later he started to London with his wife and his dog, which was named Robber. The terrors of that voyage impressed him so much that he was inspired with the idea for “The Flying Dutchman,” one of his great operas. He was told the legend of “The Flying Dutchman” by the sailors; but long before he was able to write that splendid opera he was compelled to write music for the variety stage in order to feed his wife and himself. He wrote articles for musical periodicals, and did a great deal of what is known as “hack” work before his great genius found opportunity. One manager liked the dramatic idea of “The Flying Dutchman” so well that he was willing to buy it if Wagner would let him get some one who knew how to write music, to set it.

After the production of “Rienzi” in Dresden, his difficulties were never again so serious, and soon he became Hofkapellmeister (musical director at court), which gave him an income, leaving him free to write operas as he chose.

When “Rienzi” was produced, a great musician said: “This is a man of genius; but he has already done more than he can! Listen to me, and give up dramatic composition!” But he continued to “do more than he could.”

When he wrote “Tannhaeuser” he was reduced almost to despair, for nobody liked it. Schumann said of it: “It is the empty and unpleasing music of an amateur.” But Spohr wrote: “The opera contains certain new and fine things, which at first I did not like, but to which I became accustomed on repeated hearings.”

At last, this composer, whose inspirations had come entirely from historical subjects, found his mythological beginnings in the Scandinavian Eddas; and in a poem of the “Nibelung” he found the germ of “Siegfried.”

As Kapellmeister of the court, Wagner did too many indiscreet things: allied himself with revolutionists and the like; and, before he knew it, he found himself an exile. Liszt was his friend, and when, on a visit to Weimar, politics made his presence hazardous, Liszt got him a passport which took him out of the country. He did not return for twelve years.

During his exile, which was passed mostly in Zurich, he had Karl Ritter and Hans von Buelow for pupils, and it was there that he did all of his most wonderful work. There he composed the “Nibelung Ring.” He wrote the last of it first, and the first of it ("Das Rheingold”) last. This was because his central idea, as it developed, seemed to need explanation, and successive operas upon the same dramatic and mythological theme became necessary.

Wagner’s mythology is not the mythology of the Eddas. It is distinctly his own, he having adapted a great and rugged folklore to his dramatic purposes, regardless of its original construction.

In the Ring, the Goddess Fricka is a disagreeable goddess of domesticity, and the story is told of a first reading of the opera series, which involved an anecdote of Fricka and his hostess:

He went to the house of a friend, Wille, to read the poem after it was finished, and Madame Wille happened to be called from the room, while he was reading, to look after her little sick child. When she returned, Wagner had been so annoyed by the interruption that he thereafter named Madame Wille, Fricka.

During a sleepless night in Italy he formed the plan for the music of “Das Rheingold,” but not wishing to write on Italian soil, he got up and hastened to Zurich.

He would not come to America to give a series of concerts because he “was not disposed to go about as a concert-pedlar, even for a fabulous sum.”

The irony of all the world is epitomized in a single incident that occurred to Wagner in London. He was accused of a grave fault because he conducted Beethoven’s symphonies “from memory.” Therefore he announced he would thereafter conduct them from the score. He reappeared with the score very much in evidence upon his rack, and won British approval completely. Then he announced that he had conducted from “Il Barbiere de Siviglia” with the Barber’s score upside down!

He wrote to his friend Roekel: “If anything could increase my scorn of the world, it would be my expedition to London.”

Wagner was fiery and excessive in all his feelings and doings. He hurt his friends without malice, and made them happy for love of doing so. His home was broken up by his own unruly disposition; and when his good, commonplace wife left him, it was said that he neglected to take care of her, but this was not true. She, herself, denied it before she died. His second marriage was a happy one to the daughter of his friend Liszt.

When his little son was born, he named him Siegfried, after his favourite hero, and at the time of the christening he had a magnificent little orchestra hidden away, conducted by Hans Richter, which played the old German cradle-song, now woven into the third act of “Siegfried.”

The manner in which the cycle of the “Nibelung Ring” was first presented was as follows: The first opera was given on a Sunday, the last on a Wednesday, and then there were three days of rest, beginning once more on a Sunday and ending as before. This order continued for three representations, and it has been followed in Bayreuth ever since.

For lack of means, Wagner saw his theatre opened only three times, but since his death there have been several performances.

THE NIBELUNG RING

FIRST DAY

TETRALOGY

THE RHEIN DAUGHTERS: Woglinde, Wellgunde, Flosshilde; guardians of the Rheingold. They appear in the “Rheingold” and in the “Dusk of the Gods.”

FRICKA: Goddess of Marriage or domesticity, Wotan’s wife; sister of Donner, Froh, and Freia. Appears in the “Rheingold” and in the “Valkyrie.”

FREIA: Goddess of Plenty; sister to Donner, Froh, and Fricka. Appears in the “Rheingold.”

ERDA: Goddess of Wisdom; mother of the three Fates or Norns and of the nine Valkyries. Appears in the “Rheingold” and in “Siegfried.”

SIEGLINDE: Daughter of Wotan under his name of Waelse. Hunding’s wife, and then Siegmund’s wife. Siegfried is her son. Appears in the “Valkyrie.”

BRUENNHILDE: A Valkyrie; daughter of Wotan and Erda; first Siegfried’s wife, then Gunther’s.

THE VALKYRIES: Helmwige, Gerhilde, Waltraute, Ortlinde, Rossweisse, Grimgerde, and Schwertleite. Daughters of Wotan and Erda, and sisters to Bruennhilde. Appear in the “Valkyrie,” and Waltraute also in the “Dusk of the Gods.”

NORNS: Earth’s daughters who spin men’s destinies.

GUTRUNE: Daughter of Gibich and Grimilde and Gunther’s sister, Hagen’s half-sister, and Siegfried’s wife. Appears in the “Dusk of the Gods.”

WOTAN: (The Wanderer) King of the Gods, and God of War, Father of the Valkyries, Father of Siegmund and Sieglinde. Appears in the “Rheingold,” the “Valkyrie,” and as the Wanderer, in “Siegfried.” Married to Fricka.

ALBERICH: Gnome: King of the Nibelungs, Spirit of Darkness. Appears in the “Rheingold,” “Siegfried,” and the “Dusk of the Gods.”

FASOLT: Giant and brother of Fafner; belongs to the race of mortals. Appears in the “Rheingold.”

FAFNER: Giant and brother of Fasolt, and of the race of mortals. Appears in the “Rheingold” and “Siegfried.”

FROH: God of Pleasure; brother of Donner and Freia, and Fricka. Appears in the “Rheingold.”

DONNER: God of Thunder, brother to Fricka, Freia, and Froh. Appears in the “Rheingold.”

LOGE: Spirit of Fire and Flame. Belongs first to the underworld and then the Gods. Appears in the “Rheingold.”

MIME: Dwarf (Nibelung, foster-father of Siegfried.) Appears in the “Rheingold” and in “Siegfried.”

SIEGMUND: Son of Wotan, husband to Sieglinde and Siegfried’s father. Appears in the “Valkyrie.”

SIEGFRIED: Son of Siegmund and Sieglinde, and grandson of Wotan (Waelse). Husband of Bruennhilde and Gutrune. Appears in “Siegfried” and the “Dusk of the Gods.”

HUNDING: Sieglinde’s husband. Appears in the “Valkyrie.”

GUNTHER: Son of Gibich and Grimhilde and brother to Gutrune and husband to Bruennhilde; half-brother to Hagen. Appears in the “Dusk of the Gods.”

HAGEN: Son of Alberich and Grimhilde; half-brother to Gunther and Gutrune. Appears in the “Dusk of the Gods.”

THE RHEINGOLD

CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA

Donner
Wotan
Froh 
Loge

Fricka
Freia
Erda

Alberich
Mime 

Fasolt
Fafner

Woglinde
Wellgunde
Flosshilde

Nibelungs.

ACT I

Deep down in the jagged bed of the river Rhein there lay hidden a great treasure of gold, which for ages had belonged to the Rhein-daughters three mermaids who guarded it.

Above the gold, in and out of the shadowy fissures, the beautiful fishwomen had swum and played happily, and the years had never made them old nor weary nor sad. There they frolicked and sang and feared nothing. The golden treasure was heaped high upon the rock in the middle of the river’s bed, and it shone through the waters of the stream, always to cheer and delight them.

Now, one tragic day, while the daughters of the Rhein were darting gaily about their water home, a little dark imp came from Nibelheim the underground land of the Nibelungs and hid himself in the dark cleft of a rock to watch the mermaids play. In all the universe there was probably not so malevolent a creature as that one. His name was Alberich. Hidden in his dark nook, he blinked his rheumy eyes at the mermaids, envied them their beauty, and thought how he might approach them. Above, on the surface of the earth, it was twilight, and the reflection from the gold upon the rock was soft and a beautiful greenish hue. The mermaids, all covered with iridescent scales from waist to tail, glimmered through the waters in a most entrancing way. In that shimmering, changeful light they were in amazing contrast with the slimy, misshapen Alberich, who came from that underworld where only half-blind, ugly, and treacherous creatures live. The mermaids disported themselves quite unconscious of the imp’s presence, till he laughed aloud, and then, startled, they swam in haste and affright to the rock where the gold lay stored.

“Look to our gold,” Flosshilde cried in warning to her sisters.

“Aye! It was just such a creature as this, whom our father warned us against. What does he want here, I should like to know?” Woglinde screamed, swimming frantically to join her sisters.

“Can I not watch ye at play?” Alberich called, grinning diabolically. “Dive deeper, here, near to me; I shall not harm ye.”

At this they recovered a little from their fright, but instead of approaching the ugly fellow, they laughed at him and swam about, near enough to tantalize him.

“Only listen to the languishing imp,” they laughed. “He thinks to join us in our sport.”

“Why not swim down and torment him?” Flosshilde said. “He can never catch us such a sluggish creature as he!”

“Hello!” Wellgunde cried; “Scramble up here, if you like.” Alberich tried to join them, but he slipped and rolled about over the wet stones and cursed in a most terrible way.

“That is all very well, but I am not made for thy wet and slippery abode. The water makes me sneeze.” He sneezed in a manner that set all the mermaids laughing till their scales shook. However, he at last reached the rock whereon the gold lay and he had no sooner got near than the sun shone out so brightly above, that the rays shot through the waters and reflected a beauteous gleam from the Rheingold. Alberich started back in amazement.

“What is that, ye sleek ones,” he asked, “that gleams so brightly there?”

“What, imp! Dost thou not know the story of the Rheingold? Come, bathe in its glow and maybe it will take away a little of thy ugliness,” one of the sisters cried.

“What do I care for the lustre of gold? It is the gold itself that I want.”

“Well, the lustre is all that thou wilt get,” Flosshilde answered him. “The one who would take our gold and hope to make of it the magic ring must forswear love forever. Who is there who would do that?” she called, swimming triumphantly toward the rock.

“What is the secret of thy ring that a man must forswear love for it?” Alberich asked craftily.

“The secret is, that he who would be so rash would have in return power over all the earth.”

“What?” shouted the wretched Nibelung, “Well, then, since love has forsworn me, I shall lose nothing by forswearing love. I need not hesitate to use thy gold.” Springing and clinging to the rock the Nibelung tore the gold from its resting place, dived deep into the river-bed and disappeared into the fissures of the earth. The mermaids followed frantically, but he was quite gone, and with him the beautiful gold, which till then had given only innocent pleasure to the Rhein-daughters. As soon as the gold vanished, the sun was hid, and the waters turned dark and gloomy. The waves began to grow black, rough, and high, while the water sank, sank, sank, till only darkness and a rushing sound could be seen or heard.

As the waves disappeared, a thick mist took their place, and soon separating, became detached clouds, till at last the sun shone forth again. As the cloudlets floated quite away a great mountain was revealed. The water had given place to the surface of the earth, and there, in the early morning light, lay Fricka, the Goddess of home and domesticity, and Wotan, the God of War, who was Fricka’s husband. Behind them rose a great cliff and as the sun shone more and more brightly a splendid palace could be seen rising into the clouds. All its pinnacles sparkled in the sun’s rays, while the river Rhein flowed peacefully between the mountain peak whereon the palace rose, and the hills where Wotan and his Goddess lay.

Scene II

Just as the sun arose, the Goddess Fricka lifted her head, and, looking behind her, saw the palace. It gave her a terrible fright, because it had not been there when she fell asleep.

“Look, Wotan!” she called loudly. “What do I see?” Wotan raised himself at her call. He gazed and was spellbound with delight.

“Walhall, the home of the Gods; the home of the Eternals!” he cried. “It appears as it did in my dreams.”

“That which enraptures thee fills me with fear,” Fricka replied sadly. “Hast thou not promised to give my sister Freia to the Giants who builded it for thee? Their task is done, and now they will claim their reward. Hast thou no feeling? Thou art cold and cruel, knowing nothing of tenderness and love!”

“How falsely thou accusest me,” Wotan answered. “Did I not give an eye to win thee, Fricka?” He looked tenderly at her with his single, brilliant eye. “True, I have promised Freia to the Giants when they should have finished the palace, but I do not mean to keep that promise.”

“How wilt thou evade it?” Fricka asked scornfully.

“Loge, the Spirit of Flame, shall prepare the way. He agreed to help me satisfy them in some other way and he will do it.”

“Loge?” Fricka cried, still more scornfully. “That trickster! He is a fine one to look to. It was a sad day for us when thou didst rescue him from the underworld, where even his own did not trust him.”

“He will keep his word,” Wotan answered, confidently.

“Then it is time he appeared,” the Goddess cried, “since here comes
Freia, the giants after her, to demand the reward.” At that moment,
Freia, their Goddess sister, ran crying to Wotan to save her from
Fasolt and Fafner, the Giants, who followed her with great strides.

“Save me, save me, brother,” Freia cried.

“I shall save thee,” Wotan answered, reassuringly. “Did not Loge promise to ransom thee? He will be here presently. Have no fear.” Nevertheless Wotan, himself, was not too confident, and he looked anxiously for the Spirit of Flame. Meantime the Giants were striding over the mountain.

“Come now,” they shouted, “while we wrought, ye slept. Give us our reward as promised and we shall be off.”

“Well, what do ye want? Name a suitable reward and I shall give it to ye.” Wotan answered, trying to pacify them.

“We want only what is promised, and we shall have it. We shall take the Goddess Freia.” They struck the earth with their staves and roared loudly.

“Donner! Froh!” Freia shrieked to her brothers, and immediately they rushed upon the scene. Donner, the God of Thunder, carried a great hammer with which he woke the thunders. “Save me from Fasolt and Fafner,” Freia cried.

“We’ll save thee, sister,” Froh answered, facing the Giants, while Donner menaced them with his thunders.

“You know the weight of my hammer’s blow,” he threatened, while the Giants laughed a horrible, rumbling laugh and Donner swung his hammer. Wotan feared the strife that would surely follow, and being a god of war, understood the value of diplomacy, as well as of force, so he interposed his spear between the Giants and Donner.

“Thy thunder is powerless against my spear, Donner. The whole world is shattered if only I interpose thus; so hold thy peace.”

“Even Wotan abandons us,” Fricka cried in despair. “Where is now thy fine Loge?”

“I can quench thy accursed Loge with only one blow of my hammer, which shall make the mists collect and the waters descend upon the earth till his fires are put out,” Donner answered bitterly.

“Hold thy peace,” Wotan commanded. “His cunning is worth all thy force and here he comes to straighten out this coil. Come, Loge,” Wotan demanded, “thou hast promised to free us from this bargain; get thy wits to work.”

“Alas, Wotan!” the tricky fellow replied, coming into their midst, “I have wandered everywhere for a substitute for the Goddess Freia, and have found none; but I have brought news of great misfortune, which thou art called upon to set right,” he said, watching the Giants craftily out of the corner of his eye. “The Rhein-daughters have lost their gold. It has been stolen by a Nibelung, and with the golden treasure he can rule the world. The bargain with the Fates was: he who should forswear love forever would be able to make of the Rheingold a magic ring which would give him power over all the earth and over the Eternals as well. Alberich has done this and has stolen the gold.”

Now, while the cunning Loge spoke, the Giants had been listening, and exchanging glances. When Loge had finished, Fafner spoke up:

“I would not mind having that gold for myself.”

“How? Wouldst thou take it in exchange for Freia?” Wotan instantly asked.

“Have a care, brother,” Fasolt interposed; “after all, a woman’s love ”

“It will not gain for us what the Rheingold will gain,” Fafner answered determinedly. “Wilt give us the gold for Freia?” he asked Wotan.

All the Gods fell to talking among themselves. Freia pleaded with Wotan, and Wotan reflected: the word “gold” made even the Gods tremble with pleasure. Why should Wotan not have the treasure for himself?

“Well, answer us!” Fafner shouted, making a motion to take the Goddess and flee. Fricka and Freia shrieked with fright. “What is the secret of this ring?” Fafner asked again.

“That whoever shall make a ring out of the Rheingold shall rule the universe. Alberich has already forsworn love, and is already having the ring made.”

“We shall take the Goddess Freia,” Fafner cried, “and give ye till evening to decide among yourselves. If ye have not the gold by that time the Goddess is ours forever.” So saying he leaped toward Freia, grasped her and fled over mountain and valley, while the Goddess Fricka cried out wildly, and Freia echoed her shrieks. All looked anxiously toward Wotan.

“How darkly Wotan broods,” Loge thought, while a great gloom settled upon all. A pale mist gradually enfolded all the Gods, as they stood uncertain and troubled. Until that moment they had appeared young and handsome, but now they looked at each other in fright.

“What aileth thee?” each asked of the other. “Do the mists trick us?” Each stared at the other in horror, because all were growing old, suddenly.

“My hammer drops from my hand,” Donner muttered, weakly.

“My heart stands still,” Froh sighed faintly.

“Ah! Know ye not the fate that has overtaken you?” cried Loge. “Ye have not to-day eaten of Freia’s magic apples; the Apples of Life. Without them ye must grow old and die, ye well know. Without Freia to tend the fruit, it must wither.”

Reminded of what they had forgotten, the Gods started up in terror.

“’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 Freia. 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.

Scene III

As they arrived at that place, they heard groans and moans, and shrieks and wrangling. Presently they saw Alberich bring from a cleft of the rock a wretched Mime, one of the inhabitants of Nibelheim.

“Ah, thou mischievous imp! I’ll pinch thee well if thou forgest me not the thing I commanded thee,” Alberich shouted, at the same time pinching and poking the miserable little fellow.

“I’ve finished thy work,” the Nibelung screamed, trying to flee from Alberich’s blows.

“Then where is it?” the wretch demanded; as he wrenched open the Mime’s hand in which was concealed a piece of metal called a Tarnhelm.

“Ah, ha! Now thou shalt writhe,” Alberich shouted, and setting the Tarnhelm upon his head he immediately became invisible. Unseen himself, he pinched and cuffed the Mime so as to make the tortured little imp cry for mercy.

“I cannot see you,” the Mime screamed piteously, trying to dodge the blows.

“No matter, I am somewhere about,” Alberich answered, giving him another pinch. Then taking the Tarnhelm from his head he stood there in his own shape.

“Now,” shouted the imp of darkness, “Now I can punish thee properly! If thy work is not well done I can torment thee to death. With this magic helmet and my ring I can make the whole world smart if I choose. And I shall choose,” he added, reassuringly. “Wait till I get at those fine Gods up there.” He disappeared chuckling, into a crack in the rock while the Mime crouched down in pain.

Alberich had no sooner gone, than Loge and Wotan came from the darkness.

“What is wrong with thee, thou merry dwarf?” Wotan asked.

“Only leave me to myself,” the Mime sobbed, moving his sore body.

“So we shall, but we shall do more than that; we shall help thee. Only tell us what ye forged for Alberich which gave him such power over ye!”

“Oh, it was a ring, made from the Rheingold. Now he has power over all the Nibelheim, and he will kill us. Till this happened, we wrought at the forge beautiful trinkets for our women-folks and laughed gaily all day, but now he has made us his slaves who must dig precious metals from the earth and turn them into what he commands. There is no more happiness for us. I thought to keep the Tarnhelm he bade me make, and learn its power, but I had to give it up.” He went on whining and moaning.

“Ah, thy case is a hard one! but we shall help thee.” While Wotan was thinking what they should do, Alberich was heard returning. He was cracking his whip and driving a great host of Nibelungs before him from the cleft of the rock. All were staggering under loads of valuable metals; gold and silver, and precious stones.

“Hi, there! Move thy fastest,” he shouted, lashing them as he drove them before him. He had taken his Tarnhelm off and hung it at his girdle: turning, he saw Wotan and Loge.

“Hey! Who are these?” he cried. “Nibelungs, be off to your digging; and mind ye bring me treasure worth having.” Lashing them soundly, and raising his magic ring to his lips, the Nibelungen shrunk away in affright and disappeared into the clefts of the rock.

“Ah, ye are a precious possession,” he said to the ring. “Whoever fails to obey thy Lord, feels thy power.” The little black villain looked gloatingly upon it; then turning to Wotan and Loge he asked: “What are ye doing in my domain?”

“We have heard of thy power, great sir, and came to see it,” Loge replied.

“It were nearer the truth if ye come to envy me, and to spy out my possessions,” he answered, but Loge laughed as he retorted:

“What! you miserable imp of darkness! You speak thus to me! Do you not remember me? I was once of thy realm. Pray tell me what you would do in your underground caverns with your forges and smithies if I were to deny you my flame? How, then, would you forge your precious rings?” Loge laughed mockingly.

“You are that false rogue, the Spirit of Flame, then?” Alberich said.

“Never mind calling names; you can’t get on without me, you know that well enough,” Loge answered, grinning.

“What good can thy treasures do thee here in this perpetual night?” Wotan asked.

“My gold shall buy me even the Gods, themselves.” Alberich replied; “and though I forswore love, I am likely to get even that; my gold shall buy it for me.”

“What prevents some one stealing thy magic ring? Thou hast no friend in all the world, so when you sleep who shall guard the ring?”

“My own wit! What, think you I am a fool? Let us see! By my own cunning I have had fashioned this Tarnhelm which makes me invisible to all. Then who shall find me when I sleep?” he demanded triumphantly.

Loge smiled contemptuously.

“Doubtless thou wouldst be safe enough if such magic could be,” he answered, incredulously, “but ”

“You doubt?” Alberich shouted, his vanity all aroused.

“Well, if it be true show us,” the cunning Flame Spirit returned. Immediately Alberich set the Tarnhelm upon his head.

“What would ye that I become?”

“Oh, it matters not so that you become something that you are not,” Loge answered carelessly.

“Then behold!” Alberich cried, and instantly he turned into a great writhing serpent which coiled and uncoiled at Wotan’s feet.

“Oh, swallow me not,” Loge cried, as if in mortal fear. Then Alberich, becoming himself again shouted, “Now will you doubt?”

“That was very well done,” Loge assured him, “and I grant you frightened me; but as for your safety if you could have turned yourself into some small thing a toad or mouse for example it would be safer for you.”

“Then behold!” Alberich shouted again, losing all caution in his pique. He turned himself into a slimy crippled toad, which crawled upon the rock, near Wotan’s foot. Instantly Wotan set his heel upon the creature and pinned him to the earth, while Loge grasped the Tarnhelm. Then Alberich becoming himself again squirmed and shouted, beneath Wotan’s feet.

“Something to bind the imp, quickly,” Wotan called to Loge, and in a trice the dwarf was bound, and borne upward by the God and Loge. Again they passed by the smithy lights, heard the ring of the anvils, and soon they were back at the trysting place. The Nibelung, still shrieking and cursing at his own folly, was placed upon a rock, while Loge and Wotan stood looking down at him.

Scene IV

“There, imp, the Gods have conquered thee and thy magic. Thus they conquer the powers of evil and darkness. Thou art henceforth our slave unless you see fit to ransom yourself with the Rhein treasure.”

At this, Alberich set up a great howling, but Wotan was impatient.

“Slavery for thee worse than that of thy Mimes or else give me the Rheingold quickly.” Alberich remembered his ring the Tarnhelm hung at Loge’s girdle and thought he might safely give up the gold.

“With my ring, I can win it back and more too,” he thought; so he said to Loge:

“Well, then, rascal, unbind my arm that I may summon the Nibelungen.” Loge loosened one arm for him, Alberich raised the ring to his lips and called upon his host of imps. Instantly they poured from the crevasses of the rocks, laden with the Rheingold, which they dumped in a great heap before Wotan.

“Ah, thou rogues,” Alberich shrieked to Loge and the War-god; “wait till my time comes! I’ll make you dance.” The awful little fellow roared from his small throat with rage.

“Never mind that: we shall be able to take care of ourselves,” the God answered, while Alberich lifted the ring and the Nibelungen rushed pell-mell into the rocks again.

“Being a God, you think you can take what you desire without pay; but even the Gods must pay. The gold was stolen and you need not think to profit by another’s roguery.”

“We shall chance it,” Wotan replied, with a smile “so take off that ring of thine ” At this Alberich gave a frightful scream.

“Never! I will give my life, but never this ring. Oh, you wretches! Rascals! Villains!” He stopped shouting for sheer lack of breath. He saw before him the loss of that which was to win him back his gold and power. Wotan made a motion to Loge, who laughed and dragged the ring from the dwarf’s hand, Wotan put the magic ring upon his own finger, and Alberich nearly fainted with despair. Gathering his scattered senses, he began to utter a frightful curse upon the ring. He swore that whoever had it should meet ruin and death instead of power and happiness, and cursing thus in a way to curdle even the blood of the Gods, he spat at Wotan.

“Have done, thou groundling,” Loge said. “Go to thy hole.” Alberich fled, still crying curses on the gold.

When Wotan and Loge first returned to earth with the imp, it had been twilight, but now, just before night, the light grew stronger, and when the mist that had hung lightly over all cleared away, Fricka, Donner, and Froh could be seen hurrying to the tryst.

“Thou hast brought Freia’s ransom,” Fricka cried, joyously, looking at the great golden heap. “Already, she must be near, because see! Do we not all grow younger?” she asked tremblingly, looking at the others.

“It is true; we were dying and now I feel strength in all my limbs,” Donner answered, looking in amazement at his brother Gods.

“Yes here comes Freia with Fafner and Fasolt.” Freia would have rushed into Fricka’s arms, but the Giants still held her fast.

“She is not thine till we have the gold,” they declared; and thrusting his staff into the earth, Fafner said:

“Thou shalt heap the Rheingold as high as my staff which is as high as the Goddess, and the heap shall be made as thick and as broad as she. When this is done, she is thine.” Wotan called out impatiently:

“Heap up the gold; make haste and be rid of them.” So Loge and Froh fell to heaping the gold about the staff, while the Giants stood by and watched. When it all was piled, Fafner peered through the heap to see if there was an unfilled chink.

“Not enough,” he cried; “I can still see the gleam of Freia’s hair which is finer than gold. Throw on that trinket at thy belt,” he signified the Tarnhelm which hung at the girdle of Loge. Loge threw it contemptuously upon the heap. Then Fafner peeped again. “Ah! I still can see her bright eyes more gleaming than gold. Until every chink is closed so that I may no longer see the Goddess and thus behold what I have sacrificed for the treasure, it will not do. Throw on that ring thou wearest on thy finger,” he called to Wotan.

At that Wotan became furious.

“The ring. Thou shalt never have the ring not if thou shouldst carry away the Eternals, themselves.” Fafner seized Freia as if to make off with her.

“What, thou cruel God! Thou art going to let them have our sister,” Fricka screamed, mingling her shrieks with Freia’s. Donner and Froh added their rage to hers, and assailed Wotan.

“I’ll keep my ring,” Wotan shouted, being overcome with the power it would give to him, and determined rather to lose his life.

“Thou wretched God! Thy wickedness means the doom of the Eternals,” Fricka again screamed, beside herself with the shrieks of Freia. As the Gods were about to curse Wotan, a bluish light glowed from a fissure in the earth.

“Look,” cried Loge, and all turned to see, while Fafner, certain of one treasure or the other, looked and waited.

The bluish light grew and grew, and slowly from the ground rose a frost-covered woman, her glittering icy hair flowing to her waist, the blue light about her causing her garments of frost to glance and shimmer and radiate sparkles all about her.

“Wotan,” she spoke, “give up thy ring.” All were silent, the Gods and Giants dumb with amazement.

Again she spoke: “It is Erda, she who knows the past, present, and the future. Thy ring is accursed. Ruin and disaster follow its possession. Give up thy ring!”

“Who art thou?” Wotan asked in amazement.

“I am mother of the three Fates of her who weaves her who watches and her who cuts the cord of life. They are my daughters. Thy fate is spread out before me; give up thy ring.” The Gods trembled before one who knew both good and evil. Erda had sunk into the earth as far as her breast.

“Give up thy ring,” she sighed again, and disappeared in the earth, as Wotan rushed toward her. Donner and Froh held him back.

“Touch her not to touch her would mean death!” they cried. Wotan stood thoughtfully, looking at the spot where Erda had been, till presently, with a quick movement, he threw the ring upon the Rheingold.

“Freia!” he cried, “give us back our youth and life, and thou, Giants, take thy treasure.” As Freia sprung toward her sister Fricka to embrace her, the Giants fell to quarrelling over the gold.

“Here, thou! give me my share,” Fafner roared, as Fasolt was trying to possess himself of all the hoard. Thus they fought while the Gods looked on.

“Keep the ring, Fafner,” Loge called. “It is worth more to thee than all the gold.” But the struggle became more fierce till at last Fafner with one great blow killed his brother, while the Gods looked on in horror.

“Behold how Alberich’s curse begins to work,” Loge cried to Wotan.

“I must see Erda the Wise again,” Wotan answered, abstracted and troubled.

“Nay,” said Fricka, grasping his arm. “See thy palace the Walhall of the Eternals for which thou hast nearly caused us to perish. Thou hast got what thou desired, yet hast not even entered its halls. Come let us go and seek peace and happiness.” Thus urged, but looking thoughtfully at the spot where Erda had disappeared, he permitted himself to be led toward Walhall.

“The place was paid for with an evil wage,” one of the Gods said, moodily, for all saw the mists settling upon them and felt youth and hope leaving them. They had not yet eaten of their apples of life, but Donner at last aroused himself and strode to a high peak.

“Come,” he cried, in a mighty voice; and swinging his mammoth hammer above his head he called again: “Come! Come, ye mists of all the earth! Gather around me. Come, ye hovering clouds, ye foreboding mists! Come with lightnings and with thunder and sweep the heavens clear,” and swinging his hammer he shouted: “Heda, heda, heda! To me, all mists! To me, all ye vapours! Donner calls his hosts. Vapours and fogs; wandering mists, heda, heda, heda!”

The black clouds gathered about him till all the Gods were obscured, and as they enfolded them, even the Thunder God was hidden.

Out of the darkness flashed the lightning. Boom! his hammer crashed, and the thunders rolled away into the hills.

Boom! the hammer crashed against the rock again, and with another mighty stroke the darkness rolled away, the storm cleared, the sun shone forth and at Donner’s feet a brilliant rainbow-bridge appeared. It bridged the way from peak to palace. It was the bridge of promise, and to it Froh pointed the way. As the sun beamed upon the earth, the pinnacles and roofs of Walhall shone like burnished gold, and Wotan took his Goddess by the hand and crossed the bridge of promise while the others followed in his train. Loge, going last, paused.

“I foresee the downfall of the Eternals,” he murmured. “They have longed for ease and luxuries which they have bought with evil bargains. Shall I go with them, or shall I once more wander, flickering, dancing, wavering, glancing a Spirit of Flame that shall destroy while others build?” Thinking of what was to come, he slowly crossed the rainbow-bridge and cast in his lot with the Eternals.

As the Gods departed for Walhall, the Rhein-daughters were lamenting their loss; but Wotan heard and turned to chide them.

THE NIBELUNG RING

SECOND DAY

THE VALKYRIE

CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA

Siegmund.
Hunding.
Wotan.
Sieglinde.
Bruennhilde.
Fricka.

The Valkyries: Gerhilde, Ortlinde, Schwertleite, Waltraute, Helmwige,
Siegrune, Grimgerde, Rossweisse.

ACT I

Far off in the forest lived a huntsman and his wife. The huntsman was rough and brutal, but his wife, Sieglinde, was a young and tender creature who lived far away from pleasure and friends, while her husband hunted all day, went to sleep as soon as he had his supper, and was always surly and rough.

The huntsman’s house was strangely built, with the trunk of an ash tree in its very centre, while struck deep into its hole was a sword. The weapon had been driven so far into the tree’s trunk, that only its hilt was to be seen. The house was poor, indeed, with only a table and some rough benches for furniture, and at one side, a fireplace where a dull fire flickered.

One night, while Sieglinde was about to prepare Hunding’s supper, a handsome youth burst into the hut, seeking shelter from the storm. The room was empty and he stood at the open door, looking about for some one from whom he might ask a welcome; but all was silent and deserted; so he staggered to the hearth and sank down before the fire upon a great bearskin. He appeared to be exhausted as if he had fled far from some persistent foe. He wore no armour, had no arms, and was quite defenceless and worn.

“Whoever owns this shelter and warmth must share it with me for a moment,” he sighed: “I can go no farther;” and he stretched himself before the welcome blaze.

Sieglinde, hearing a sound and thinking Hunding might have returned, came from an inner room. Upon opening the door the sight that met her eyes was the man upon her hearth-stone.

“Some stranger here!” She whispered to herself, a little afraid, for she was not able to see his half-hidden face. Poor Siegmund had no sooner stretched himself before the blaze than he fell asleep. Presently Sieglinde drew nearer, looked into his face and saw that he was very handsome, besides being gentle in appearance.

“I wonder if he can be ill?” she thought, compassionately; and as she continued to look into his face a great feeling of tenderness and love for him crept into her heart. Half waking, he called for water, and Sieglinde gave it to him from the drinking horn. As she again bent to give him the water, he saw her for the first time, and he looked at her thoughtfully in his turn, and in his turn, too, he loved her. She appeared to him to be very beautiful and kind.

“Whose house is this?” he asked, at last, watching Sieglinde wherever she went.

“It is the house of Hunding, the hunter,” she answered, “and I am Sieglinde, his wife.”

“I wonder will he welcome a wounded and defenceless guest?” he asked with some anxiety.

“What? art thou wounded?” she demanded with solicitude. “Show me thy wounds that I may help thee.”

“Nay,” he cried, leaping to his feet; “my wounds are slight and I should still have been fighting my foes, but my sword and shield were shattered and I was left at their mercy. They were many and I could not fight them single-handed and weaponless. I must now be on my way. I am but an ill-fated fellow, and I would not bring my bad luck upon thee and thy house.” He started to go out of the door.

“Thou canst not bring ill-fate to me,” she answered, looking at him sadly. “I am not happy here.”

“If that be true,” he said, pausing to regard her tenderly, “then I shall remain,” and he turned back into the house.

Scene II

At that very moment, Hunding was heard returning. Sieglinde, hearing him lead his horse to the stable, opened the door for him, as was her wont, and waited for him to come in. When Hunding finally appeared, he paused at seeing Siegmund.

“Whom have we here?” he asked his wife, suspiciously.

“A wounded man whom I found lying upon the hearth-stone. I gave him water, and welcomed him as a guest.” Hunding, hearing this, hung his sword and shield upon a branch of the dead ash tree, and taking off his armour, handed it to Sieglinde.

“Set the meal for us,” he said to her in a surly tone, looking sharply at the stranger. Sieglinde hung the armour upon the tree and began to prepare the meal.

“You seem to have come a long way,” said Hunding at last to Siegmund. “Have you no horse?”

“I have come over mountain and through brake. I know not whither the journey has led me. I would find that out from thee; and may I ask who gives me shelter?”

“I am Hunding whose clan reaches far, and who has many kinsmen. Now for thyself?”

“I, too, have kinsmen who war for freedom. My father was a wolf and my mother is dead. I am the son of the Waelsungs a warring race. Once my father, the wolf, and I wandered together in the forest. We went to hunt, and upon our return we found our hut laid waste and my mother burned to ashes. Then, sadly, my father and I went forth again.”

“I have heard of this wolfling,” Hunding answered, frowning. “A wild and wolfish race, truly! Tell me, stranger, where roams thy father, now?”

“He became the game of the Neidlings they who killed my mother; but many a Neidling has been destroyed in his pursuit. At last my father must have been slain. I was torn from him, but later escaped from my captors and went in search of him. I found only his empty skin, and so I was left alone in the forest. I began to long for the companionship of men and women; but I was mistrusted; whatever I thought right, others thought wrong, and that which others thought well of appeared to me to be evil. Thus, in all my wanderings, I found no friend. In truth my name is Wehwalt: Woe. I may never find love and kindness. Foes wait ever upon my track. Since I am a wolf’s son, who will believe that I have loving thoughts?” Hereupon, Sieglinde looked at the handsome yet sorrowful stranger with great tenderness.

“Tell us, guest, how thy weapons were lost?” Hunding insisted.

“Willingly I shall tell thee. A sorrowing maid cried for help. Her kinsmen thought to bind her in wedlock to one she did not love; and when she cried to me to free her, I had to fight all her kinsmen single-handed. I slew her brothers and while protecting her as she bent above their bodies, her people broke my shield and I had to flee.”

“Now I know you,” Hunding shouted, rising and glaring at the young wolfling. “I was called to battle with my kinsmen they were your foes! He who fought us fled before I could reach the battling place, and here I have returned to find my enemy in my house! Let me tell you, wolf-man, my house shall hold you safe for the night, since you came here wounded and defenceless; but to-morrow you must defend yourself, for I will kill you.”

At that Hunding moved threateningly toward Siegmund, but Sieglinde stepped between them, regarding Siegmund with a troubled face.

“As for thee,” said Hunding to her roughly; “have off with thee! Set my night-draught here and get thee to bed!”

Sieglinde took from the cupboard a box of spices from which she shook some into the drinking horn in which she was making the night-draught. All the while she moved about she tried to direct Siegmund’s eye toward the sword hilt which gleamed upon the ash tree; but Hunding was not pleased with her and drove her from the room to her bed-chamber. Then taking the armour from the tree he glowered darkly at Siegmund.

“Look well to thyself, to-morrow,” he said; “for I mean to kill thee.” Then he followed Sieglinde to the inner chamber.

Scene III

Siegmund sat down, sad and lonely, while the lights burned out and the fire flickered lower. The wolf-man with his head in his hands thought gloomily upon his unhappy fate. Never was he to find friends, though he was true and honest and meant harm to no man.

“I have no sword,” he thought; “hence I cannot defend myself against Hunding. If only I could find, somewhere in the world, that enchanted sword of which my father told me!” he cried, aloud in his despair. Suddenly, the logs in the fire fell apart and the flame flared high it was Loge doing the bidding of Wotan, who, from Walhall, was watching the movements of the Universe and in the blaze the sword hilt could be seen shining upon the tree. The gleam caught Siegmund’s eye, but he did not know what he saw.

“What is that so bright and shining?” he said to himself. “Ah, it must be the memory of dear Sieglinde’s brilliant eyes, which rested so often upon that spot before she left the room. It is because I love her and think of her that I fancy I see a jewel shining in the dark.” Musing thus he became sadder than before. Again Loge flamed up high, and again Siegmund saw the gleam of the sword, but still he did not know what he saw, so the lonely wolf-man was again left in darkness. Then the chamber door softly opened and Sieglinde stole into the room. She had left Hunding sleeping.

“Guest,” she whispered. “Art thou sleeping?” Siegmund started up joyfully.

“It is Sieglinde?” he whispered back.

“Listen! Make no sound. Hunding lies sleeping, overcome by the heavy drink that I have given him. Now, in the night, fly and save thy life. I have come to show thee a weapon. Oh, if thou couldst make it thine! Many have tried, but all have failed. It is only the strongest in all the world who can draw it from its strange sheath.” Siegmund’s glance wandered to where she pointed, and rested upon the sword hilt which the flame had shown him.

“I was given by my kinsmen to the cruel Hunding,” she continued; “and while I sat sad and sorrowful on my wedding night, and my kinsmen gathered around rejoicing, there entered an old man, clad all in gray, his hat pulled low over his face, and one eye hidden; but the other eye flashed fear to all men’s souls but mine. While others trembled with fear, I trembled with hope; because on me his eye rested lovingly. He carried a sword in his hand, and with a mighty stroke, buried it deep in the ash tree.

“‘Only he who has a giant’s strength can draw that sword,’ he cried. After that, guests came and went, came and went, tried and tried; but none could draw the sword. So there it cleaves until this day. Ah! if thou couldst draw it out and save thy life! He who draws that sword shall also deliver me from Hunding,” she added, wistfully.

At that, Siegmund leaped up and clasped her in his arms:

“Then in truth shall I draw it. It is I who shall free thee. And who but the God Wotan put the weapon there for thy deliverance? Thou sayst he had but one eye! Did not Wotan give one of his to win his wife, Fricka? Thou hast been guarded by the Gods themselves,” he cried, and again clasping her to his breast he promised to free her forever from Hunding. “It is the weapon told of by my father, the wolf,” he declared; and while they stood thus, the outer door swung noiselessly open and the moonlight streamed in.

“Ah! It is the Spring,” he whispered. “The beautiful Spring! She has entered unannounced to bring us cheer and hope, it is an omen of good. I am no longer sad. I have found one to love who loves me, and a weapon to defend her.” With a mighty wrench Siegmund pulled the sword from its bed and swung it above them.

ACT II

When Sieglinde and Siegmund had fled and while they were wandering, waiting for the battle which was certain to occur between Siegmund and Hunding, Wotan was preparing to send out his war-maid, Bruennhilde, from the palace of the Gods Walhall. The warrior-maid had been given him by Erda, and she went forth each day to the ends of the earth, to guard all warriors. When men died in battle, she and her eight sisters, who were called the Valkyries, bore those heroes to Wotan, and they dwelt in Walhall forever. It was on the day of the battle that Bruennhilde and Wotan came to a high rock, armed and prepared for war. Wotan carried a magic spear.

“Listen, Bruennhilde! Thou art to hasten. There is this day to be a great battle between Siegmund, who is of the Waelsung race, and Hunding. As for Hunding, I want him not in Walhall. Yet it is Siegmund whom thou art to shield in the strife. Take thy horse and hurry forth.” Bruennhilde, springing upon her beautiful horse, Grane, flew shouting over the rocks, loudly calling her battle-cry:

“Ho-jo-to-ho! Ho-jo-to-ho! Heia-ha, heia-ha, heia-ha!” This loud clear cry, rang from peak to peak, from crag to crag, while the maid on her enchanted horse flew away to summon her sisters. On a far peak she paused, and called back to Wotan:

“Have a care war-father! Thy Goddess, Fricka, comes drawn in her car by rams. She will give thee a great battle I fear; she swings her golden lash, and makes the poor beasts dance. I tell thee, war-father, thy Goddess has some quarrel with thee!” and laughing, Bruennhilde flew on her way. Fricka’s rams, scrambling over the rocks, dragging her car behind them, landed her close to Wotan.

“So, Wotan, I must look the world over for thee!” she cried angrily. “I have no time to chide thee, however. The hunter Hunding has called to me for help. He is sorely pressed. Siegmund is his foe, and has taken the magic sword from the ash tree. With that sword he is invincible. He has carried off Hunding’s wife, and I, the Goddess of Home and Domesticity, must avenge him. I have come to warn thee not to interfere for Siegmund. I shall help Hunding.”

“I know of thy Hunding,” Wotan answered, frowning. “And I know no harm of Siegmund. It was the beautiful Spring which united the pair. Am I to overwhelm these two with ruin because thy cruel Hunding has come to thee for help? Spring’s enchantment was upon Sieglinde and Siegmund.”

“What, ye speak thus to me, Wotan? When those two had been united in holy wedlock ?”

“I do not call so hateful a union, ’holy’,” Wotan answered, sternly.

“Thy words are shameful. I have come to tell thee thou shalt take back the magic power thou hast given to Siegmund with the sword. I know well he is thy son, and that thou wandered upon the earth as a wolf, leaving behind thee this sword, invincible, for thy beloved wolf-boy, but I declare to you, I shall give you henceforth no peace till the sword is taken from him. Hunding shall have his revenge! The conduct of these mortals is shameful. But when Gods, such as thou, misbehave, what can be expected of mere mortals?” Fricka sighed. “However thou may seek to free thyself or defend thyself, I am thy eternal bride; thou canst not get away from me, and if thou wouldst have peace, thou wilt heed me. See to it that the wolf-man loses his life in this encounter.” Fricka, for all the world like a shrewish, scolding mortal wife, quite overwhelmed the unhappy War-god.

“But what can I do, since I should have to fight against my own enchantments?” Wotan urged, hoping to save his beloved wolf-son.

“Thou shalt disenchant the sword. The magic thou gavest thou canst destroy.” The quarrel was at its height, when Bruennhilde’s cry could be heard afar.

“Ho-jo-to-ho-ho-to-jo-ho! Heia-ha, heia-ha, heia-ha!” Bruennhilde came leaping down the mountain again, upon her horse, Grane. Seeing a quarrel was in progress between the Goddess and Wotan she became quiet, dismounted, and led her horse to a cave and hid him there.

“There, Wotan, is thy war-maid now. Pledge me thine oath that the magic sword which Siegmund bears, shall lose its virtue! Give thy war-maid instruction.” Fricka urged this in a manner calculated to show Wotan there would be no more peace in Walhall if he flouted his wife. He sat down in dejection.

“Take my oath,” he said miserably; and thus Sieglinde’s and Siegmund’s doom was sealed. Fricka triumphantly mounted into the car drawn by rams, and in passing, spoke to Bruennhilde.

“Go to thy war-father and get his commands.” Bruennhilde, wondering, went to Wotan.

Scene II

“Father, Fricka has won in some encounter with thee, else she would not go out so gaily and thou sit there so dejected. Tell me, thy war-child, what troubles thee!”

At first Wotan shook his head, but presently his despair urged him to speak and he told Bruennhilde the story of the Rheingold and the ring of the Nibelungs.

“I coveted what was not mine,” he said. “I got the gold from Alberich and in turn Fafner and Fasolt got it from me. Fafner killed his brother for love of the gold, and then turning himself into a dragon, set himself to watch over the gold forever. It was decreed by the Fates Erda’s daughters that when Alberich should find a woman to love him, the overthrow of the Gods was at hand. Alberich had bought love with the treasure. Our only hope lay in the victory of some hero in whose life I had no part. I left for such a one a magic sword, so placed that only the strongest could draw it. He had to help himself before I gave him help. Siegmund has drawn the magic sword. If he had won in the battle with Hunding, the Eternals would have been saved; but Fricka demands that Hunding shall win the fight and a God must sacrifice all Walhall if his wife demands it. He had better be dead than browbeaten forever.” Wotan almost wept in his anguish. “So must the Eternals face extermination. A wife can crush even a God!”

“What shall I do for thee, Father Wotan?” Bruennhilde cried distractedly.

“Obey Fricka this day in all things. Desert Siegmund and fight on Hunding’s side.” Wotan sighed heavily.

“Nay, I shall defy thy commands for once,” she declared, but at this Wotan rose in wrath.

“Obey me! or thy punishment shall be terrible. To disobey would be treason to the Gods.” He strode away.

Bruennhilde put on her armour once more.

“Why is my armour so heavy, and why does it hurt me so?” she asked of herself. “Alas! It is because I donned it in an evil cause.” Slowly she went toward the cave where her enchanted horse, Grane, was hidden.

Scene III

Now that the Gods had forsaken them, the two lovers, Sieglinde and Siegmund, were in great danger, and Sieglinde, without knowing why, was filled anew with fright. She hurried painfully along, assisted by Siegmund who was all the time lovingly urging her to stop and rest.

“Nay,” she answered always; “I cannot rest because I hear Hunding’s hounds who would tear thee in pieces, if they caught thee.” At that very moment they heard the blast of Hunding’s horn in the distance.

“There he comes with all his kinsmen at his back, and they will surely overwhelm thee,” she cried in distress; and fell fainting with fear.

As Siegmund placed her tenderly upon the ground, Bruennhilde came toward them from the cavern, leading her horse.

Scene IV

She regarded Siegmund sorrowfully and said in a troubled voice:

“I have come to call thee hence, Siegmund.” The youth stared at her curiously.

“Who art thou?” he asked.

“I am Bruennhilde, the Valkyrie; and whoever I look upon must die.”

“Not I,” Siegmund answered, incredulously. “I fight with the enchanted sword of Wotan. My life is charmed. I cannot die.”

“Alas!” she answered, then paused. Presently she spoke again. “Whoever looks upon me must die, Siegmund,” she said earnestly.

“When I have died, where do I go?” he asked. He was not sad at the thought of giving up a life so full of strife.

“Thou goest to Walhall to dwell with the Eternals.”

“Do I find there Wotan, and the Waelsungs my kinsmen who have gone before me?”

“Aye,” she answered “And Wish-maidens to fill thy drinking cup and to cheer thee. It is the home where heroes dwell, forever and forever.”

Siegmund’s face glowed with hope.

“And Sieglinde?” he cried.

“Ah, not she. She must stay yet a while behind thee.”

Then a terrible change came upon Siegmund and he frowned at the Valkyrie.

“Begone! Thinkest thou I go to thy Walhall without Sieglinde? Begone! What do you of the Gods know of love such as ours. Walhall is not for me. I carry the enchanted sword given by Wotan. This day I kill Hunding, and live my life in peace with Sieglinde.”

Bruennhilde could no longer let him deceive himself.

“The enchantment of thy sword is gone!” Siegmund started. “Wotan deserts thee. To-day thou must go hence with me. Hunding will kill thee.” For a moment Siegmund regarded the Valkyrie, then drawing his sword, he turned to where Sieglinde was lying, still unconscious.

“What wouldst thou do?” Bruennhilde cried.

“Kill Sieglinde, to save her from Hunding’s wrath.”

“Leave her to me,” Bruennhilde entreated, moved with pity. “I swear to thee I will preserve her. Leave her with me.”

“With thee when Wotan himself has tricked me? Nay. The Gods are no longer trustworthy,” he said, bitterly, turning again to Sieglinde. Bruennhilde, overcome with pity and admiration for such devotion between mortals a love more steadfast than the promises of the Gods themselves sprang forward to stay him.

“Do not! I will preserve thee thee and thy Sieglinde. I am here to guard Hunding, but it shall not be so. I will shield thee in the fight. I will brave the wrath of Wotan for such love as thine and Sieglinde’s. If the magic of thy sword is destroyed, the power of my shield is not. I will guard thee through the fight. Up! Renew thy courage. The day is thine, and the fight is at hand.” Mounting her horse, Grane, the Valkyrie flew over the mountain tops and disappeared. Siegmund’s despair was turned to joy and again hearing Hunding’s horn, he turned to go, leaving Sieglinde to sleep till the fight was over. The storm-clouds gathered, and all the scene became hidden.

Scene V

Lightning flashed and thunder rolled ominously. Siegmund bent to kiss Sieglinde and disappeared in the blackness of the storm. All the heavens and earth spoke of war and death. The air grew thick with vapours, and lightning cleft the hills. Siegmund called through the darkness to Hunding to face him for the fight, and at the sound of his voice and the horns and the shouting of battle, Sieglinde awoke. She could see naught, but could hear the sounds of war. Her fear for Siegmund returned. She shrieked and ran toward the storm-shrouded mountain. The skies were rent, and high upon the rocky peak, Hunding and Siegmund stood forth in battle.

“The Goddess Fricka is with me!” Hunding shouted.

“Away with thy Goddess! It is the Gods who support me” Siegmund answered, bravely swinging his sword. Instantly Bruennhilde floated above the warriors. She interposed her burnished shield between Siegmund and the sword of Hunding, and cried:

“Thrust, Siegmund! Thy sword shall preserve thee!” Instantly the whole earth was filled with a dazzling fire, in which Wotan appeared, foaming with rage. He thrust his spear to catch the blow of the wolfling’s sword, which broke in half upon it; while Hunding’s point pierced Siegmund’s breast. Bruennhilde fell at Wotan’s feet, while with a shriek Sieglinde in the glade below fell as if dead. While Wotan faced Hunding, Bruennhilde rushed down the mountain to save Sieglinde. Taking her in her arms she sprang upon Grane and flew for the rock of the Valkyries.

“Now go, thou miserable being,” Wotan thundered at Hunding, and waving his spear at him, the man fell dead.

“Now Bruennhilde, for thee! and for thy punishment!” he cried in an awful voice, and amidst the crashing of Donner’s hammer against the sides of the universe and flames from heaven, Wotan disappeared.

ACT III

Away on a far mountain, the Valkyries were waiting for Bruennhilde’s coming. They were her sisters: Gerhilde, Ortlinde, Waltraute and Schwertleite, seated upon a high place, dressed in their armour. From time to time they gave the cry of the Valkyries:

“Ho-jo-to-ho! Ho-jo-to-ho! Heia-ha, heia-ha, heia-ha!” Soon this call was answered by Helmwige, who could be seen coming on her horse, with a slain warrior tied to her saddle.

The Valkyries were arriving from the four quarters of the earth each bearing a slain warrior. At last, all but Bruennhilde had come.

“We cannot go to Wotan without her,” they said among themselves. “She is his favourite and she brings to him those heroes he most desires. We must not start for Walhall till she has come.” Thus they talked among themselves, now and then sounding their cry and laughing over the misfortunes of mortals. At last one called:

“Look! Bruennhilde is coming in wildest haste. Look, look! Her pace is so furious that the horse staggers. What lies on her saddle?” All peered in amazement into the vale below.

“It is no man,” one cried.

“It is a maid,” shouted another.

“She does not greet us.” They ran to help her from her horse, shouting their war-cry as they went, and returned supporting Sieglinde, while they surrounded Bruennhilde and questioned her wildly.

“Shield us!” she cried to them. “I am pursued. The war-father is coming after me. He is foaming with rage. Hide us, shield us.” All looked at her in consternation.

“What hast thou done?” they questioned.

“Who can shield thee from our father’s wrath, Bruennhilde?” one cried.

“I see him not,” one who was on the look-out called. “But a fearful storm gathers.”

“It is Wotan. Our father rides upon the storm. Oh, shield this poor wife,” Bruennhilde called.

“Alas! the storm increases.”

“Then he is near. His anger increases as he comes,” Bruennhilde cried in terror. “Now who will lend me a horse to put this poor wife upon?” None dared brave the wrath of the God.

“All of you are silent,” she said at last, in despair. Turning to the fainting Sieglinde, she cried:

“Up! Take the way to the east. There dwells the dragon, Fafner, and near him Alberich also watches. That is the only place in the world Wotan avoids. Go thou, and I will detain the Father till thou art far and safe. Take these pieces of the magic sword. I snatched them when Siegmund fell. Give them to thy son and Siegmund’s, and that son shall be named Siegfried. With these sword-pieces again made whole, the sword shall win the world for that son of thine.” With these words she turned Sieglinde’s face toward the east, while she herself stood waiting.

Sieglinde was no sooner gone than the storm grew more fierce, and Wotan called with a loud voice from the clouds:

“Bruennhilde!” Full of fear she sought to hide herself in the midst of her sisters.

“He is coming, sister,” they shouted. All the forest about them was lighted up with a lurid fire, and Wotan came raging through the midst of it.

Scene II

Striding from the wood he called again:

“Come forth! Naught can save thee from thy punishment.” Without hope, Bruennhilde came from the company of her sisters and threw herself on her knees before Wotan. He looked at her in pity because he loved her dearly.

“For thy treason to the Eternals and to me, I doom thee to roam the earth as a mortal woman. I take thy glory from thee. Walhall shall know thee no more. Thou art forever cast out from us. Henceforth thy fate shall be to spin the flax, to sit by the hearth, a slave to man.” He could not look upon her because he loved her so.

At this, all the Valkyries cried out.

“Away!” he called to them. “Her punishment is fixed and whoever tries to help her shall share her fate.”

At this threat, all fled wildly to their horses, and shrieking, flew away, leaving behind them a sound of rushing and a streaming light.

Scene III

Wotan regarded Bruennhilde mournfully. She raised herself and tried to move him with her tears.

“If I am doomed to become mortal, to suffer all mortals’ ills and woes, remember still that my treason was partly for love of thee. I knew Siegmund was dear to thee. Wilt thou not pity me a little?” Her pleading was so mournful that Wotan at last listened to it.

“Bruennhilde, I will guard thee from the worst. Since thou must become as mortals are, and the slave of man, I will guard thee from all but the brave. I will enchant thee into a sleep from which only a hero can wake thee. Fire shall surround thee, and he who would win thee must pass through the flame.” He kissed her on the eyelids which began to droop as with sleep, and he laid her gently down upon a little mound beneath a fir tree. He closed her helmet and laid upon her her shining shield, which completely covered her body. Then he mounted a height.

“Loge!” he called, and struck the rock three times with his spear. “Loge, Loge, Loge! Hear! Once I summoned thee, a flickering flame, to be companion of the Gods. Now, I summon thee to appear and wind thyself in wavering, dancing, fairy flame, about the fallen. Loge, I call!”

A little flashing flame burst from a riven place. It spread, it crept, it darted and stung; catching here, clutching there, fading, leaping, higher, higher, higher, till all the world was wrapped in fire. The shooting tongues drew about the God, who, stretching forth his magic spear, directed it toward the rock on which the Valkyrie lay asleep. The fiery sea spread round and in its midst Bruennhilde slept safely.

“He who fears my spear-point, may not cross the flame,” he said, pointing his spear toward the tomb of fire; and then, with backward glances, the God of War passed through the flame and was seen no more.

THE NIBELUNG RING

THIRD DAY

SIEGFRIED

CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA

Siegfried.
Alberich.
Mime.
Fafner.
The Wanderer.
Erda.
Bruennhilde.

ACT I

In a cavernous rock in the forest, hammering upon an anvil, was a complaining Mime. As he hammered, the sparks flew from the sword which he was forging.

“Alas!” he cried, muttering to himself, as he worked at his task; “Alas! Here I am, day after day, trying to forge a sword which Siegfried cannot break. I, who have made swords for giants, am yet unable to satisfy this stripling.”

At this the Mime flung the new-made sword upon the anvil with a crash, and stood gazing thoughtfully upon the ground.

“There is a sword to be forged which even that insolent boy cannot break; a sword which, if the race of Nibelungs could wield it would win them back the treasure and the ring. This sword must kill the dragon, Fafner, who guards that ring the magic sword, Nothung! But my arm cannot forge it; there is no fire hot enough to fuse its metal! Alas! I shall always be a slave to this boy Siegfried; that is plain.” While he lamented thus, Siegfried, himself, ran boisterously into the cavern, driving a great bear before him. The youth was dressed all in skins, wore a silver hunting-horn at his girdle, and he laughed as bruin chased the Mime into a corner.

“Tear this tinkering smith to pieces,” Siegfried shouted to the beast. “Make him forge a real sword fit for men, and not for babes.” The Mime ran about, shrieking with fear.

“There is thy sword, Siegfried,” he shouted, pointing to the sword which he had thrown on the anvil.

“Good! Then for to-day thou shalt go free the bear can eat thee another day?” he cried, mockingly; and giving the bear a blow with the rope which held him, the beast trotted back into the forest.

“Now to test thy great day’s work! Where is this fine sword? I warrant it will be like all the others; fit only for a child’s toy.” The Mime handed him the sword saying:

“It has a fine, sharp edge”; thus trying to soothe the youth.

“What matters its edge if it be not hard and true?” he shouted irritably, and snatching the sword from the Mime’s hand he struck it upon the anvil and it flew in pieces.

Siegfried flew into a great rage, and while he foamed about the smithy, the Mime got himself behind the anvil, to keep himself out of the angry fellow’s way. When Siegfried’s anger had spent itself, the Mime came from the corner and said solicitously:

“Thou must be hungry, my son.”

“Don’t call me thy ‘son,’ thou little black fool,” the boy again shouted. “What have I to do with a misshapen thing like thee, whose heart is as wicked as its body is ugly? When I want food, I’ll cook it.” The Mime held out a bowl of soup to him, but Siegfried dashed it to the ground.

“Did I not rescue thee from the forest when thou wert born, and have I not fed and clothed thee?” he whimpered.

“If so, it was for no good purpose. I know thee.” Siegfried had a marvelous instinct which told him good from evil. “Dost know why I go forth and yet return, day after day?” he asked presently, studying the Mime’s face thoughtfully. “It is because I mean to learn from thee something of my mother and my father.” Siegfried’s voice had become gentle, and full of longing.

“What can I tell thee?” the Mime replied, craftily. “I found thy mother ill in the wood, and brought her to my cave, where I tended her till thou wert born. I know nothing of thy father except one thing.” He paused, considering whether or not he should reveal what he knew about the good sword, Nothung.

“Well, get on with thy tale. I will know it all,” Siegfried threatened.

“Thy mother carried the fragments of a sword which had been thy father’s, and when she died at thy birth, she named thee Siegfried and gave to me the pieces, saying if thou couldst reweld the sword, so as to make it new, it would win thee the world. The sword’s name is Nothung.”

“Where are those pieces,” Siegfried roared, starting up and menacing the Mime.

“Do not set upon me so fiercely I will give them to thee,” the Mime pleaded, and taking the pieces from a cleft in the rock, he gave the youth a sword in two parts. “It is useless to thee, I tell thee frankly; I could not make thee the sword. There is no fire hot enough to fuse the metal, and no arm strong enough to forge it not even mine, which has fashioned swords for giants.”

Siegfried shouted with joy.

“Thou old thief, have the good sword done ere I return or I will have the bear swallow thee at a gulp.” Leaping with joy he went back into the forest. The Mime sat down in great trouble. He did not doubt Siegfried’s word yet he knew that he could never make the sword. He fell to rocking himself to and fro upon the stone seat, while he thought of what he should do to excuse himself upon Siegfried’s return.

In the midst of his trouble a strange man entered the cavern, dressed in a dark blue cloak which nearly hid him. On his head was a great hat pulled low over his face, but one fierce eye shone from under it. When the Mime saw him, he felt new fear.

Scene II

“Who art thou?” the Mime demanded in an ugly tone, as the Wanderer stood watching him reflectively.

“I am one who brings wisdom, and whom none who have good hearts turn away. Only the evil turn from me. The good offer me shelter.” The Mime, seeing only his own cunning and wickedness reflected in the Wanderer, tried to think how he should rid himself of one he believed had come to harm him. He thought the Wanderer must be a spy, but in reality, he was the God Wotan, who had seated himself upon the hearth, and was watching the Mime.

“Listen!” he said, beholding the Mime’s fear; “ask of me what thou wilt and I shall lighten thy burden, be it what it may.” He looked long and curiously at the Mime and could read his heart.

“Wilt answer me three questions?” the Mime demanded.

“Aye and stake my head upon the truth of the answers.”

“Then tell me what race it is that dwells in the depths of the earth.”

“It is the Nibelung race, and Nibelheim is their land. There, all are black elves, and once upon a time, Alberich was their lord. He tamed them with the spell of a magic ring formed of the Rheingold. Ask on.”

“What is the race which dwells upon the surface of the earth?” The Mime asked, less timidly.

“It is the race of Giants. Riesenheim is their land and Fasolt and Fafner were their rulers, but, possessing themselves of the Nibelung’s gold, they fought, and one killed the other; till now, Fafner alone, in the form of a dragon, guards the hoard and ring. Speak on.”

“Thou hast told me much,” the Mime said, wondering. “But now canst thou tell me who are they who dwell upon cloud-hidden heights?”

“They are the Eternals, and Walhall is their home. Wotan commands that world. He shaped his spear from the branches of an ash tree, and with that spear he rules the Gods. Whoever wields that spear rules all the giants and the Nibelungs.” As if by accident, Wotan the Wanderer struck the spear he carried upon the ground and a low roll of thunder responded. The Mime was terror-stricken.

“Well, Mime, is my head which I pledged to thee, free?”

“Aye, go.”

“If thou hadst welcomed me, I could have solved thy problems for thee, but I had to pledge my head to thee before I could rest here. So now, by the law of wager, this matter is now reversed. It is for thee to answer me three questions or lose thy head. Tell me, then: What race does Wotan the War-god favour?”

“Ah, I can answer that: it is the Waelsungs a race sprung from wolves. The Waelsungs’ mightiest son is his care. His name is Siegfried.”

“Now tell me the name of the sword with which this same Siegfried is bound to conquer the world, to kill the dragon Fafner, and to get the Rheingold and the ring?”

“The name of the sword is Nothung,” the dwarf replied, not daring to keep silence.

“Now one more answer, as wise as those gone before, and thy head is free: Who shall fashion this same sword, Nothung, for Siegfried?”

At this question the Mime leaped up and flung his tools all about in rage.

“I know not who has the power to make the sword,” he screamed.

“I will tell thee,” the Wanderer answered, smiling contemptuously upon the Mime. “The sword shall be forged by one who has never known fear. Now thy head is forfeit, but I shall leave it on thy shoulders for that same man he who knows no fear to strike from thee.” Still smiling at the terror-stricken Mime, the Wanderer passed out into the forest.

He had no sooner gone, than the Mime began to think upon the last words he had spoken. He was to lose his head by the stroke of one who had never known fear. The only one the Mime knew who was fearless was Siegfried. Then unless Siegfried could be made afraid, he would one day strike off the Mime’s head.

Scene III

When Siegfried returned to the cavern, the Mime began to tell him that he must learn to fear, before he could go forth into the world to seek adventures. He told Siegfried of the horrible dragon, Fafner, who guarded the Rheingold and the Ring, thinking to strike terror to the youth’s heart; but Siegfried became at once impatient to go in search of the dragon, that he might know what the experience of fear was.

“Where is that strong sword you are to make for me?” he demanded, being thus put in mind of it again. The wretched Mime knew not what to answer.

“Alas!” he sighed; “I have no fire hot enough to fuse the metal.”

“Now by my head, I will stand no more of thee!” Siegfried shouted. “Get away from that forge and give me the sword’s pieces. I’ll forge that sword of my father’s and teach thee thy trade before I break thy neck.” So saying, he grasped the fragments of the sword, began to heap up the charcoal, and to blow the bellows. Then he screwed the pieces into a vise and began to file them.

“Use the solder,” the Mime directed. “It is there, ready for thee.”

“Solder? What should I do with solder?” he said, and continued to file the pieces till the file was in shreds. In time he had ground the pieces to powder, which he caught in a crucible and put upon the fire. While he blew the bellows with a great roaring of the fire, he sang the song of Nothung, the invincible sword.

As the Mime watched that easy forging of the mighty weapon, he believed that Siegfried was the one who would slay the dragon as Wotan had foretold. If he did that then he surely would possess himself of the treasure and the ring. So the Mime fell to planning how he could get the gold into his own hands. Siegfried knew nothing of gold and power, and so, why should he not willingly hand the treasure over to the Mime? Then the Mime would determine that Siegfried should perish, and by the ring’s magic his destruction would come about, leaving the Mime lord of all. So the Mime decided it was well that Siegfried should forge the sword, because the Mime, even if he had such a sword, had known fear, and therefore, could not kill the Dragon with it. Siegfried must do this and the Mime should profit by it, and afterward kill Siegfried. Thus he reasoned. All this time Siegfried had been at work upon his sword. He had poured the molten metal into a mould, and held the mould high above his head. Presently he plunged it into cold water, and a great hissing of steam occurred. Again he thrust the sword into the fire to harden it the more, and meantime the Mime was fussing about the fire, making a broth.

“What is the devil’s brew thou art making,” Siegfried demanded giving him a lowering look.

“Something to take with us upon the journey to the Dragon’s lair.”

“None of it for me,” Siegfried shouted. “I’ll have none of thy brew.”

But the Mime reasoned that by the morrow, when Siegfried would have slain the Dragon and have found himself weary, he would gladly drink of the broth. As it was poisoned, it would kill Siegfried as soon almost as he had killed the Dragon.

At last the broth was finished and poured into a bottle ready for taking, while the sword was done at the same time, Siegfried having tempered it and tested its point and its strength a little.

“Now,” shouted Siegfried, “if the good sword will stand, let us go.” He stood before the anvil, swung Nothung about his head, and with a frightful blow he cleaved the anvil from top to bottom so that the halves fell apart with a great crash. The sight was more than the Mime could bear and he stood palsied with fear of such tremendous strength.

“Yes, yes, let us be off,” he cried, when he could speak again. He longed to have the Dragon dead and Siegfried dying; only then would he feel safe.

Swinging the great sword about his head, Siegfried started off into the forest, in search of adventures.

ACT II

Alberich crouched, waiting near the Dragon’s cave, having always known, even as the Gods knew, that the day would come when even Fafner, the Dragon, would meet his match.

When that time came, Alberich meant to possess himself again of the gold, for he felt capable of fighting any one but the Dragon.

As Siegfried and the Mime reached the part of the forest where the Dragon kept guard, it seemed to be black, black night and a storm was brewing. The scene was very frightful, indeed. The thunder muttered, showing that Donner was somewhere about, using his hammer. While Alberich, imp of the underworld, sat watching and waiting, he saw a bluish light, such as had appeared when Erda spoke to Wotan. Alberich started up in alarm.

“Can that light mean the coming of him who is to slay Fafner?” he wondered, as the bluish radiance grew brighter and brighter. Then the storm abated and the light died out. Next, the Wanderer entered the place before the Dragon’s cave, and although it was very dark such a bright light seemed to come from him that Alberich recognized Wotan.

“What are you doing here, thief,” cried the black revengeful spirit, “you who took the Rheingold? Once more let me gain possession of the ring and I’ll come against all Walhall and thy celestial world.”

“Peace! Thy rage means naught to me,” the Wanderer replied. “Listen, and I will tell thee what thou wouldst like to know. The Mime brings hither a boy who shall kill the Dragon. The Mime plans to win the gold and the ring. I may not help the boy: I may not serve those whom I love; but if thou wouldst warn the Dragon, very likely he would give thee the treasure for thy reward. I’ll call the Dragon to thee,” he said, and stepped to the mouth of the cave.

“Fafner, Fafner, awake, thou Dragon!” Alberich trembled with fear when an awful voice roared in answer:

“Who wakes me from my sleep?”

“A friend,” Wotan, the Wanderer, replied, bending his head toward the cave and listening.

Alberich, taking courage, listened too, and called:

“A foe is near who comes to snatch the Rheingold and the ring from thee.”

“Then food is near at hand,” the Dragon roared in his softest voice.

“Listen,” Alberich persisted. “If thou wilt give the ring to me, I will help thee.” The Dragon yawned terrifically:

“Don’t trouble yourself. I will look after my hoard and my ring.” Even if he had whispered, he could have been heard a mile away. As it was, he spoke in his loudest voice, although he was sleepy, and Alberich nearly fainted with terror.

“Thou hast failed with the Dragon, Alberich,” the Wanderer said, smiling, “but I will give thee one word more of advice: Make terms with the Mime. Attack him; perhaps thou wilt have better luck with thy kind!” In a flash of lightning, the Wanderer mounted his magic steed and disappeared. When he had looked after him for a moment, Alberich slipped into the Dragon’s cave, and as he disappeared, the day slowly dawned, and all the scene grew bright in the morning light.

Just at the dawn of day, Siegfried, and the Mime reached the glade before the Dragon’s cave. The enchanted sword hung at Siegfried’s belt.

Scene II

“Now we have arrived where the Dragon lives,” the Mime said to Siegfried.

“Ah?” the youth said, sitting down to rest under a lime tree. He looked curiously about him. “Is it time to be afraid?” he asked, anxiously. “Because if so, I feel nothing yet although maybe I do, and do not know it?”

“Oh, you’ll know it fast enough,” the Mime assured him. “In that cave there lies the Dragon. His great hairy jaws will open and swallow thee at one gulp.” But Siegfried sat under the lime tree and asked if that were really true. It interested him greatly.

“But one thing I tell thee,” he cried: “If this thing which you have told me be not true, we’ll part company at once. I’m not to be fooled. I have come here to learn something how to be afraid and if I don’t learn it as thou hast said, I’ll teach thee to stop lying.”

“When, out of the Dragon’s mouth, a poisoned foam pours, which will kill thee if any drop gets upon thee, I guess thou wilt shake a little. Thy body and thy bones would melt if that stuff touched thee.”

“Well, I’ll give him plenty of room, to be sure,” Siegfried replied.

“His great tail will sweep about and if he should catch thy limbs in it, thy bones would be crushed like glass.”

“That sounds very bad; but tell me if this thing has a heart which is placed where other hearts are placed?”

“Truly a cold and cruel heart.”

“Oh, as to that, I am not concerned, but if he has any heart, Nothung will slip into it. Now come, old babbler, is this the thing that is to teach me fear this thing that spits a bit and lashes about with a clumsy old tail?”

“Laugh away, laugh away! But I have no mind to stay so near, so I shall go away and lie down beside a stream to sleep. Watch thou there, and have a care for thyself.” So saying the Mime went off a little way and laid himself down. When he had gone, Siegfried stretched himself beneath the lime tree to listen to the birds’ song. He cut himself a reed and tried to answer the birds, but could not. As he rested there in the bright day, he had lonely thoughts of his mother and his father, and longed for some one whom he could love. While in the midst of these musings, he looked up and there, with his frightful head resting upon the knoll, was Fafner, the Dragon. He was giving vent to a terrific yawn, and made such an awful sound that Siegfried regarded him in amazement, but suddenly burst out laughing.

“Hello! Are you the beauty who is to teach me to be afraid? Well, well!” and he laughed again. The Dragon ceased to yawn and stared hard at Siegfried.

“You are a pretty plaything,” Siegfried continued. “Such a nice, rosy little mouth. I fancy you must be the fellow who was to scare me to death. Thou art a beauty, surely!”

“Who is it?” the Dragon roared suddenly.

“Ho! And a sweet voice like the birds,” Siegfried grinned.

“Since my mouth is so rosy, let me see how my teeth will feel when set in a juicy morsel like you,” said the Dragon and he spouted venomous vapours, stretching his horrid jaws, while Siegfried nimbly sprang to one side to avoid the poisonous steam. Standing watchful, with his sword, he tried to thrust it at the Dragon’s tail, but Fafner roared and swished his tail away, and prepared to strike with his body; but to do this he had to raise himself upon high, and in so doing exposed his breast. Instantly Siegfried plunged Nothung into his heart, and the Dragon rolled over upon his side with a groan which shook the trees to their very roots. Siegfried left his sword in the wound and sprang to one side.

“Oh,” groaned the Dragon, with a sigh like a weary earthquake. His blood spouted upon Siegfried and burnt his hand like fire. As the blood soused him, a little bird sang.

“It is almost as if that little bird was speaking to me,” he said, pausing and looking up into the trees. “Can it be the Dragon’s burning blood has some virtue which makes me understand the bird’s song?”

“Siegfried now owns all the Nibelung’s hoard which lies hidden in the cave. There will be found the Tarnhelm and the ring, which will give him power over all the earth,” so the bird sang, and Siegfried understood.

“I thank thee, dear birdling, for thy counsel. I shall follow thy call.” He turned toward the cave and entered it in search of the treasures. At that moment, the Mime came into the glade, and Alberich, in the dark of the cavern’s mouth, slipped out past Siegfried, and the Mime and he came face to face, while the dead Dragon lay between them.

Scene III

“Thou sly and slippery knave,” Alberich began pleasantly to address the Mime; “thou wouldst have the ring and the gold, eh?” He glared viciously at the little imp of Nibelheim.

The Mime tried to pacify the evil creature, but Alberich, who had waited long, would listen to nothing. Before they could fall a-fighting, however, Siegfried came from the cave bearing the ring and the Tarnhelm.

He slipped the ring upon his finger and hung the Tarnhelm at his belt.

“I know not what these things are for,” he murmured to himself, “but I have taken them because the little bird gave me that advice.” Unseen behind him, Alberich slipped into the cave to fetch the treasure. At that same moment the little bird sang:

“Let Siegfried wait to see what the Mime will do. Listen and learn and have a care.”

“Good!” the youth cried. “I am the one to take advice.” As the Mime approached him, Siegfried stood steadily, one foot upon the knoll where the Dragon had lain, and watched the imp.

“Ah, my lovely boy, hast thou now learned to fear?” he said, in an ingratiating tone.

“Not yet, Mime!” Siegfried said, seriously.

“Well, at least thou art weary, so drink of this and rest a while,” and the Mime drew forth his bottled broth. “It will give thee new courage.” But Siegfried, filled with loathing for the little man, felled him with a single stroke of his sword. Thus the Mime was slain, as Wotan had said, by one who knew no fear.

After that, the youth picked up the Mime’s body and threw it into the cave where the treasure lay still, and with a great effort he tugged at the Dragon’s body till he had rolled it near, and in turn he dumped the Dragon into the cavern. After looking down into the darkness, he sighed and turned back to the green glade.

“I am truly tired,” he said. “I think I can now stretch myself beneath this tree and rest.” So saying he laid himself down and turned his face to the sky.

“Ah, little birdling,” he said, “Here am I, so lonely, without father nor mother nor any one to love me. I wish thy clear voice would speak again to me and tell me of some fond friend.” The bird trilled:

“Thou hast great treasure and power from this time forth; still thou art not happy without love and one to share thy fortune. I will tell thee then of a lovely bride who lies guarded round by fire in a rocky forest fastness. She sleeps and waits for one who shall dare the flames for love. The glorious maiden’s name is Bruennhilde.”

“Oh, song of joy,” Siegfried cried, starting up. “Now indeed thou hast made me happy.”

“Only he who has never known fear may wake her,” the little bird sang.

“Have no fear, dear bird. I have known no fear and Bruennhilde shall be mine. Lead on, lead on, dear bird. Lead me to the rock where this dear maid lies and I shall know no fear.” The little bird rose beside him, and circling a few times above his head, took a straight flight and led the way while Siegfried followed.

ACT III

While Siegfried was on his way, led by the little bird, the Wanderer was seeking Erda, who had given to him Bruennhilde and his eight other warrior daughters. Erda was Wisdom, and the Wanderer sought her at the base of a wild and rock-made mountain. It was night and a storm was roaring all about. Wotan arrived at the mouth of a cave and called “Erda!”

“Waken,” he cried, “I must waken thee from thy long sleep.” The bluish light shone steadily and slowly Erda rose. She was covered with hoar frost and her iridescent garment shimmered as if made of ice.

“Erda, a youth has been found who knows no fear. He has slain Fafner. He is governed only by love, and I am about to resign my Godhood in his favour. Wisdom has been sleeping and the Gods have lost their power. Wisdom and the Gods must at last give way to love.” Having heard this, Erda slowly sank back to her sleep. Wotan, the Wanderer, leaned gravely against the face of the rock, waiting for Siegfried. Suddenly a little bird fluttered along, dropped to the ground, and disappeared.

Siegfried, coming up afterward, saw the flight and disappearance of his birdling, so knew that his journey was ended and that Bruennhilde was near.

Scene II

“I must find the burning rock, without further help,” he said. “I think the little bird would not have gone, if it had not left me very near the place.” He looked impatiently about, and went toward the mountain. In passing the Wanderer, who stood watching him, he paused and asked which way he should take.

“Is there not a rock surrounded by flames, near by? And is there not a maiden?” He told the Wanderer his story; and as the old man did not speak, Siegfried became curious to know who he was. He looked closely into his face, questioned him about his queer hat, and suddenly saw that the strange old man had but one eye. He mocked at him, in his youth and strength.

Wotan, being a God and truly loving Siegfried, spoke gently to him, but the youth was defiant and mocked him again. The Wanderer became enraged and declared that Siegfried should never pass the flames that divided him from Bruennhilde.

“It is only he who fears naught,” the God cried. “Look and say if thou art he,” He pointed his spear toward the mountain top and the flames broke forth, burning fiercely.

“Ah,” Siegfried cried; “it is there the lovely Bruennhilde sleeps! Farewell, old man. I go to waken her and claim my bride.” But the Wanderer again halted the youth.

“That sword of thine has once been broken on my spear. I shall break it again, wild boy. No sword has ever yet withstood the shock of my spear. Thou canst not go!” He plunged his spear to bar Siegfried’s way, but Siegfried stepped back and regarded him closely.

“If this sword of mine has once been broken on thy spear, then thou art the destroyer of my father for this sword is Nothung. Thus, with one blow I avenge him.” So saying, he struck once at the Wanderer’s spear, and shattered it. The Wanderer stepped back, knowing then that the end of the Eternals was at hand. Thunder crashed and lightning splintered across the sky and sprung from the spear to the mountain-top.

Presently, the flaming mountain height seemed to descend nearer to Siegfried, and putting his horn to his lips he blew a great blast and plunged into the fire.

He was soon out of sight, but gradually the fire died down, and the red cloud hovering over all became less lurid in its reflection. Gradually the cloud dissolved till naught was left but a beautiful rosy mist. With the passing of the mist, Bruennhilde could be seen, still lying on the mound where Wotan had laid her, and she was still covered with her helmet and the beautiful shining shield.

Scene III

The fir tree spread itself above Bruennhilde, and she shone in her brilliant armour. Siegfried rose above a mound, and stood looking at her, spellbound. Near at hand, he saw a beautiful steed, standing as if asleep: it was Grane, who had been enchanted along with his mistress.

Gently lifting Bruennhilde’s shield he thought himself to be gazing upon a young man.

“I think his helmet must press too heavily upon his brow!” Siegfried murmured, and lifted it. The beautiful hair of Bruennhilde streamed down, and Siegfried paused in admiration; but still he thought her a man.

“I think his armour presses,” he whispered. “I will lift it.” He carefully cut the fastenings with his sword and lifting the breast-plate he saw the form of Bruennhilde lying shrouded in the soft folds of her gown. She was so beautiful that at last he was afraid.

“Oh, how shall I awaken her?” he cried, and stooping he kissed her lips, as she opened her eyes. At the same moment, Grane, the horse, moved and began quietly to graze.

Bruennhilde looked about her, saw her dear horse, and the sun and the glory of the day, and lastly beheld Siegfried who had delivered her from the enchantment of Wotan.

“Is it thou who hast gone through flame for me?” she asked.

“It is I who will guard thee forever,” he cried, embracing her tenderly. Knowing that she loved him, the only fear he had ever known, vanished. Thus mortal love overthrew the powers of evil, and of the Gods, as well.

NIBELUNG RING

FOURTH DAY

THE DUSK OF THE GODS

CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA

Norns (3).
Fricka.
Bruennhilde.
Gutrune.
Waltraute.
Siegfried
Gunther
Hagen
Wotan.
Donner.
Alberich.
Woglinde.
Wellgunde.
Flosshilde.

PROLOGUE

On the Valkyries’ rock, where Siegfried woke Bruennhilde, the Norns were gathering. The first Norn was old and tall and lay where Bruennhilde had lain under the spreading fir tree. The second was younger and also tall, and she was stretched upon a rock in front of the cave. The third was the youngest, and she, too, was tall, and she sat upon a rock below the mountain peak, and all were clothed in dark and veil-like draperies.

They were Erda’s daughters, and were called the Fates. Behind them shone the firelight which guarded the rock and it flared fitfully above the peaks.

The first Norn unwound from her waist a golden rope and tied one end of it to a branch of the fir tree. While one wove into this rope the destinies of the world, another clipped it, and the three sang the story of creation. They sang of the ash tree, of Wotan and the Eternals; and as they sang they threw the rope from branch to branch, weaving and clipping, weaving and clipping. They sang the story of Bruennhilde, of the Rheingold, of all the strife in the world, and of the destinies of the Gods and mortals.

After a while the dawn began to glow, the sun to rise, and the fire-glow behind the mountain to die out.

On the Third Day, Bruennhilde and Siegfried had entered the cave; then when the sun rose and night was dispelled, they came out, Siegfried dressed in Bruennhilde’s armour and Bruennhilde leading her good horse, Grane.

“Now, I must be gone and do valorous deeds, dear Bruennhilde,” Siegfried said to her. Taking the Nibelung ring from his finger, he put it upon hers. “Keep thou this ring and thou art all powerful and it shall keep our faith, truly.”

In return Bruennhilde gave him her horse, Grane.

“Once he mounted above the clouds while now he can only pace the earth; but that he will do bravely for thee, my Siegfried,” she assured him. The parting was full of promises and love for each other. Siegfried and Grane disappeared below the cliff, while Bruennhilde, standing upon a little mountain height, looked down at them and bade Siegfried a loving farewell.

ACT I

While Siegfried was on his way to search for the glory suited to such a hero, a banquet was being held in the hall of the Gibichungs, a race of mortals living on the banks of the river Rhein.

Gunther and his sister Gutrune were the rulers, and they sat upon a rude throne, side by side, while the banquet table was spread before them.

At one side sat Hagen, the half brother of Gunther, half a Nibelung in short, the son of Alberich. Through the great door of the hall could be seen a green field stretching away to the bank of the Rhein.

“Tell me, Hagen,” Gunther asked of his half brother, “is there anything I have left undone that could enhance the fortunes of my race?”

“That there is,” Hagen cried. “Dost thou not know of the Nibelungs’ ring?”

“I have heard there is a treasure stolen from the Rhein-daughters; and that of it a ring was made, which has magic power.”

“That is true; but the ring belongs to a wonderful youth, who by its power hath won a beautiful maiden called Bruennhilde. She lay in an enchanted sleep, in a forest-fastness, guarded by fire. This youth, Siegfried, alone, by means of this ring and his sword, has dared that flame; and now he has power over all the world, over thee and the Nibelungs, and even over the Gods.”

Upon hearing this, Gunther became moody and frowning.

“Why hast thou stirred up envy in my breast. Why should this youth have the most beautiful maiden for a wife, and also a golden treasure that gives him power over us all?”

“Why not have these things for thyself?” Hagen asked, eyeing him keenly.

“How could I manage that?”

“Dost thou remember a magic potion I brought here to the hall of the Gibichungs? If Siegfried should chance to drink that when our sister Gutrune were in his sight, he would forget Bruennhilde and love none but Gutrune. Would not the ring and the treasure of the Rhein thus come into the hands of the Gibichungs?” Gutrune looked earnestly at Hagen.

“From what thou sayest of this brave youth, I long to have him for my husband; but he is not here! How are we to lure him hither?”

“He is an adventurous youth and hath heard of the fame of the Gibichungs. He will not rest until he has met with all the adventure the Gibichungs can afford him. Even now, he may be near this place.” As Hagen spoke, the sound of Siegfried’s horn was heard afar off.

“Ah, dost hear the challenge?” cried Hagen, running to the broad entrance from which could be seen the river Rhein. “There comes a horse and a man, standing in a boat which nears the shore. It must be he, because he is beautiful as none other is beautiful, and he wears the air of a brave man.” Putting his hands to his mouth in the fashion of a trumpet he called loudly:

“Hoi-ho! Whom seekest thou, hero?”

“The stalwart son of the Gibichung.”

“A welcome waits thee,” Hagen answered. Siegfried could now be seen, disembarking with his horse, Grane. Hagen went to help him and made the boat’s chain fast. Gunther followed his brother to the bank, while Gutrune stood in the great entrance to welcome the stranger.

Scene II

“Which is the son of the Gibich?” Siegfried asked, standing with his arm thrown across his horse.

“I am he, Siegfried,” Gunther answered.

“Thy fame as a fighter has spread to the farthest corners of the earth and I am come to seek thee. Fight me, or be my friend, whichever thou wilt,” he said, tranquilly. Gunther held out his hand in welcome:

“Come thou in friendship, Siegfried,” he begged; and Siegfried gave Grane’s bridle into Hagen’s hand.

“Care well for the horse, Hagen; for it is of the mightiest strain ever known, and dear to me as my eyes; but how do you know my name?” he asked curiously of Gunther.

“Thou hast the appearance of that bold knight of whom all have heard. There can be no braver in the world, and if thou art not he I know not who thou art,” Gunther answered, and, unseen by Siegfried, he motioned his sister to leave the hall before they entered it.

“These lands and people are mine,” he continued, leading the way. “This great hall is my heritage, and my kinsmen are legion. I give all to you; share all with me. Let us dwell together in peace.” At this saying a beautiful light came into Siegfried’s face.

“I have neither kinsmen nor lands,” he answered, much moved; “but I have this good sword, Nothung, which I forged myself and it, with my life, shall be thine.” Thus they made a compact of brotherhood.

“Dost thou not own the treasure of the Nibelungen, then?” Hagen asked.

“True, but when I won it I let all but the ring and the Tarnhelm lie. I cared naught for the gold.” He held up the Tarnhelm for them to see.

“Aye, ’tis the Tarnhelm!” Hagen cried. “Thou hast only to set it on thy head to be transformed into what thou wilt. Put it on thy head and wish it so, and thou wilt be transported in a trice to other lands. But there is also the ring ”

“Aye,” Siegfried said tenderly; “but that is held by a woman,” Hagen and Gunther looked at each other, meaningly, for they knew he spoke of Bruennhilde.

“Brother, call Gutrune to bring Siegfried a refreshing drink,” Hagen said, and Gunther opening the door called to his sister who came out and offered the magic drink to the knight.

No sooner had he drunk, than he raised his eyes to thank Gutrune and beholding her, loved her.

“I drink to thee, dear Bruennhilde,” he had been about to say, but looking, he loved another.

“What is thy sister’s name?” he asked of Gunther in a low voice, scarcely daring to speak for fear his love would depart.

“Gutrune.”

“I must have her for my wife. Hast thou not a wife, Gunther why hast thou none?” he said, not waiting for one question to be answered before asking another.

“Alas, I have no wife because I have set my heart on one I may not have. I long for Bruennhilde, the Valkyrie maid who lies surrounded by fire and I may not cross the flame.”

“What! Is that thy only reason for being lonely? Then thou shalt have thy Bruennhilde. If Gutrune may be mine, I will win thy Bruennhilde for thee. Wearing the Tarnhelm I shall change my shape to thine, and as thy brother go through fire for thee and bring forth the maid.”

“Ah,” the Gibichung cried, joyfully; “our oath of brotherhood upon that! Gutrune shall be thine, thou ours, Bruennhilde mine.”

Thus it was agreed. Hagen filled a drinking horn, while the two men cut their arms and let their blood mingle in the cup. Having drunk, they swore fidelity in the drink, and Hagen cut the horn in two with a single blow, while Siegfried and Gunther joined hands.

Putting on his armour again, Siegfried declared they should at once go forth and win Bruennhilde for Gunther.

“Wilt thou not rest, first?”

So eager was the enchanted Siegfried to win for another his own bride that he would take no rest till it was done; so Hagen was left to guard the hall till their return. Soon Gunther and the knight were pushing off from the river bank, and floating down the middle of the stream.

Hagen, the half Gibichung, half Nibelung, thought of nothing but winning the Rheingold for the Nibelungs. He had sent Gunther after another’s bride, by means of an evil enchantment, and when she was brought to the hall, she would certainly be wearing the ring. Thus the prize of the Nibelungen would once more be within the grasp of an evil race, and that which might be a power for good if rightly used, would become a power for evil and be badly abused.

Scene III

While Siegfried and Gunther were on their way to fetch Bruennhilde, she sat lonely upon her rock, looking at the ring given her by Siegfried. As long as she looked upon it, she felt Siegfried to be near; nevertheless she was lonely. Very soon she heard the thunder.

“It is Donner! It is like a greeting to me from the Eternals,” she thought, smiling half sadly. Once again she heard it and saw the flash of lightning. In the clouds, she saw Waltraute, her sister, coming on her winged horse, and Bruennhilde started up joyfully.

“Wotan has forgiven me,” she cried, running to meet Waltraute, who arrived in great excitement.

“Bruennhilde, I have braved the war-father’s wrath to beg thee to save the Eternals,” she cried. “Since the day of thine enchantment Wotan has sent us no more to the battle-field for heroes. He has roamed over all the earth, till he is known as the Wanderer. One day he returned to Walhall with his spear broken, and he ordered the ash tree to be hewn in pieces and its splinters piled about Walhall. Then he summoned all our heroes about him, mounted the throne with his broken spear in his hand, and while we Valkyries crouched at his feet, he closed his eyes and seemed to wait for calamity to overwhelm us.

“At last in despair I threw myself upon his breast and demanded to know our fate. He told me that the Nibelungs’ ring was now yours, and that should you restore it to the Rhein-daughters, the Eternals would once more be given back their life and youth, and all would be well with the world. Now I have fled to thee to beg thee to save us by restoring the ring.”

At that, Bruennhilde looked at her sister sorrowfully. “The ring given me by Siegfried? Nay! I will never give up my ring. So hasten back to Walhall, sister. I cannot aid thee.” Sadly embracing the despairing Valkyrie, Bruennhilde parted from her.

Mounting her winged horse, Waltraute rose among the clouds whose bright effulgence was watched sadly by Bruennhilde, till with the last sight of the Valkyrie, the evening closed in and the fire which guarded the beautiful maid began to be reflected again from below. Soon the flames seemed to leap with anger, and Bruennhilde watched the strange sight with anxiety. Suddenly she heard a call. It was Siegfried’s. She ran to the edge of the cliff to look below, and almost instantly he appeared, rushing to her through the flames which immediately grew dull. The knight wore the Tarnhelm, but it hid only the half of his face, and his eyes were visible. His form was strange to Bruennhilde because he had changed into the image of Gunther, and when she looked at the unknown figure she shrieked. Then she whispered:

“Who cometh?” At first Siegfried stood motionless, leaning upon his spear. Then he said in a strange voice:

“I am a Gibichung come to wed thee.” This made Bruennhilde frantic with terror, and to protect herself she stretched out the hand which wore the ring.

“Go back,” she cried, but Siegfried in the guise of Gunther tore the ring from her, and after that she had no more strength to fly from him, so seizing her he carried her away to the hall of the Gibichungs.

ACT II

Back at the home of the Gibichungs sat Hagen, awaiting the return of Gunther and Siegfried. Altars to Fricka, Donner, and Wotan were raised upon the Rhein, ready for sacrifices to be offered, when Gunther should return with Bruennhilde for his bride.

Toward evening, Hagen sat just inside the entrance hall asleep and leaning upon his spear, his shield beside him. When the bright moon rose above the river, Alberich could be seen crouching at Hagen’s knees, whispering evil dreams to him.

“Thou art my son,” he said, “and must win back the Rheingold for the Nibelungen”; and in his dreams, Hagen promised to follow the counsel. Then the moon’s light was hidden, and in the darkness Alberich disappeared. When he had gone, the dawn broke. Hagen woke and looked out upon the peacefully flowing Rhein.

Scene II

As the Rhein grew redder and redder in the morning light, Hagen heard Siegfried’s call and, all at once, the knight’s head rose above the river’s bank. He still wore the Tarnhelm upon his head, but appeared in his own shape.

“Waken and greet me, Hagen!” he cried gaily.

“Where are Bruennhilde and Gunther?” Hagen called, going to meet Siegfried.

“They follow, more slowly, in the boat. When I called to thee just now, I was miles away at Bruennhilde’s rock; but with the Tarnhelm upon my head, I arrived before thou couldst answer. Where is the beautiful Gutrune?”

“She will come at once to hear thy tale and to greet thee.” Hagen called to her, and she appeared to learn of Bruennhilde’s coming with her brother. She looked shyly at Siegfried.

“Let us call all to the wedding and greet Bruennhilde gaily, that she may be glad to dwell with us, and not sigh for her mountain rock,” she cried; and Siegfried, taking her hand, went with her to prepare the feast.

Meanwhile, Hagen, watching from a high rock, blew upon his cow-horn as he saw a boat slowly coming up the river bearing Gunther and Bruennhilde.

Scene III

“Ho! Vassals! Come! Hither come ye with your arms!” he shouted, blowing again a sharp blast upon the horn. In response the warriors of Gunther began to pour from the hall, and to run in great excitement to the river-bank.

“What do we gather for? Whom shall we fight? Is our Lord, Gunther, in danger?”

“He comes hither with a Valkyrie maid, and ye are to make sacrifices to the Gods. Kill ye a boar for Froh, a goat for Donner, and for Fricka kill a sheep. After ye have done those things, take the drinking horns and drink yourselves drunk in honour of the Gods.”

The vassals went, some of them to the river’s bank to receive Gunther and Bruennhilde, some to the hall to await their coming, and to welcome them upon its threshold.

“If any one has done your Lord’s bride wrong, see that ye avenge her,” Hagen forewarned. He was already beginning to stir up strife for Siegfried in accordance with Alberich’s advice.

Scene IV

Clashing their shields and arms together, the vassals formed a line through which Bruennhilde and Gunther should pass, and when the boat reached the landing place all cried “Hail!” But Hagen stood silently watching, planning Siegfried’s ruin.

When the pair stepped ashore, Bruennhilde walked with eyes cast down, full of despair and sorrow, while Gunther led her by the hand.

They reached the hall, where Siegfried and Gutrune stood to welcome them, and the men hailed each other as brother. Gunther rejoiced that Siegfried had won Gutrune for his wife, but Bruennhilde raised her eyes to the knight, and beholding her own husband, the hero knight, she gave a great cry:

“Siegfried here?” She became distracted with horror. But Siegfried did not know her, and all her entreaties were in vain, since he was still enchanted by the potion.

Suddenly the Valkyrie maid saw the Nibelungen ring upon Siegfried’s finger, and she pointed to it, trembling. Gunther, astounded by her appearance, touched her.

“Regard thy husband, Bruennhilde,” he commanded; but instead of heeding him, she pointed to the knight.

“He is my husband,” she cried, and Hagen at once demanded that all should give heed to what she might say. He foresaw the downfall of Siegfried, in her words.

“The one who won me, wore that ring,” she said, pointing to it with shaking hand. “He was the image of Gunther, then, and he took the ring from me.” Gunther looked at Siegfried and frowned while all stared at the men and at Bruennhilde in amazement.

“It was he who wrenched the ring from me,” she declared, pointing to Gunther, “yet it is this knight who wears it.” Gunther denied having given or taken from her the ring, and Siegfried declared she did not speak the truth. Gunther feared to have it known that he had not dared the flame himself, for his bride, and yet he feared Siegfried had betrayed his honour. There was confusion among the spectators who said among themselves:

“Whose wife can Bruennhilde be?” But Siegfried, having quite forgotten the woman he so dearly loved, declared that he had got the ring he wore from no woman, but had taken it from a dragon, whom he attacked in his lair, and killed. This was true, of course, but it was also true that he had given the ring to Bruennhilde and under a wicked enchantment had taken it away.

Hagen spoke next, seeing a chance to gain the ring for the Nibelungs:

“Bruennhilde, thou sayest it was Gunther who wooed thee, and that it was he who took the ring from thee? Since that is true, Siegfried has won the ring by some false deed. It must have been Siegfried who came to thee in the guise of Gunther.”

At this all the vassals murmured, and Gunther began to feel resentment, notwithstanding the part he had played in the deception. Bruennhilde wildly accused them both, and everybody cried out against Siegfried, Gutrune, too, accusing him. All the women called upon the knight to defend himself if he could, but he called for the spear’s point on which to take an oath. When Hagen presented the spear to him, the knight laid his two fingers upon it and swore that he had been a faithful friend to Gunther, and that Bruennhilde’s words were false. Bruennhilde, thus wronged, struck his hand from the spear and placing her own upon it, swore that Siegfried should die by that same spear’s point.

By this time the quarrel had waxed so hot that the vassals and women called upon Donner to send his thunder, to silence it.

In the midst of the threats and confusion, Siegfried went close to Gunther and said aside:

“Brother, I am sorrier than thou art for all this, but it must have been the fault of the Tarnhelm which must have hidden only half of me. Thus, Bruennhilde cannot know whose wife she really is. But thou knowest well, that I won her for thee, and have no love for any but Gutrune. Come, let’s be gay, and leave this poor girl to rest, so that she may recover herself. Like enough it is the strangeness of this place, after her wild, free life in her mountains, that gives her these uncanny thoughts.”

Gunther, convinced by Siegfried’s words, joined him in urging all to make gay upon this day of double marriage, and finally they followed Siegfried out into the forest, shouting and laughing, to feast and make sacrifices.

Scene V

Bruennhilde, Gunther, and Hagen remained in the hall after Siegfried had been followed out by the company, and the Valkyrie stood, gloomily bewailing her fate; till Hagen, watching fate work Siegfried’s ruin, went at last to the unhappy wife.

“Give me thy trust, Bruennhilde,” he said; “I will avenge thy wrongs.”

“How wilt thou avenge me? One glance of Siegfried’s eye would kill thee, if he so willed it.” she answered, looking at Hagen darkly. “No weapon can pierce him in battle: I enchanted him against all danger except some one thrust at him from behind. In the back I did not guard him. I would not protect him in cowardice, but Siegfried will never turn his back upon the enemy. Thou canst not kill him in battle.”

Gunther then began to bemoan his disgrace; but Bruennhilde turned upon him.

“Oh, thou most cowardly of men betrayed and betrayer! If I dealt justice, the whole world’s destruction could not pay for the wrong done me.”

“Naught but Siegfried’s death can wipe out the wrong,” Hagen cried, watching Bruennhilde as he spoke. “Since he cannot be killed in battle, listen to my plan! To-morrow we hunt in honour of the weddings of Gutrune and the knight, Gunther and thee. While in the chase, and Siegfried all unsuspecting, I shall thrust at him from behind.”

“So let it be,” Bruennhilde cried, and Gunther, too cowardly to know the right, consented. With the morrow’s tragedy arranged Hagen saw the way at last to possess himself of the Nibelungen ring.

As they decided upon the deed, the bridal procession came from the inner hall. All the vassals and women bore spears and flowers. Gutrune and Siegfried were carried aloft, upon shields, and as Bruennhilde and Gunther met them, they too, were hoisted high and the procession moved onward, toward the altars on the river’s bank, where they were to offer sacrifices unto the Gods.

ACT III

Three days had passed since the Rhein-daughters had lost their golden treasure, and on the fourth they were swimming near the surface of the river, popping their heads up and calling to each other, when they heard the sound of the Gibichung hunters. Fearing to be caught by mortals, they dived to the bottom of the Rhein. No sooner had they disappeared than Siegfried came into the wood, armed for the hunt. He had lost his way, having followed his game, far from the others, and as he began to complain that he had that day got no game, the Rhein-daughters rose again to the surface and mocked him.

“If we grant thee some game to-day, wilt thou give us that ring upon thy finger?” they called to him.

“What! In return for a paltry bearskin give to you a ring which I gained in battling with the Dragon?” he laughed, “nay.”

“Ah, maybe thou hast a scold for a wife, who would make thee feel her blows if thou gavest away the ring.” This tormenting reply annoyed Siegfried and finally he took off the ring and held it up to them, offering it if they would cease to deride him. Then they regarded him gravely.

“Keep that ring,” they said, “till thou hast tasted the ill-fate that goes with it; after that thou wilt gladly give it to us. Now thou art parting with it, reluctantly.” So Siegfried replaced the ring on his finger.

“Tell me the ring’s secret, wilt thou?” he asked, and the maidens told him that it was accursed, and that very day, even while he thought himself so safe and fortunate, his death was determined.

Upon hearing this, Siegfried became troubled and told them to hold their peace. So they swam away, while he stood watching them, reflecting gravely, till he heard Hagen’s horn sound through the forest.

Scene II

Hearing Hagen’s horn, Siegfried wound his own in reply, and soon Hagen, followed by Gunther and his vassals, entered the glade and flung their game in a great heap.

“Ah, this is where thou hast hidden thyself?” Hagen cried, gaily. “Come, let us all rest a while,” and he threw himself down upon the ground. “The chase has wearied us, so let us have the wine-skins and drink heartily.”

“I shall have to share your booty, if I am to eat,” Siegfried laughed, “for I have had no luck to-day. I might have found game, but I followed the water-birds and heard from them a tale of disaster. It seems that I am to meet my death to-day.” Hagen and Gunther started and looked meaningly at each other. Siegfried, all unsuspecting, threw himself down between Hagen and Gunther to drink his wine, and presently, seeing Gunther downcast, he sat up and began to while the time by telling tales of his youth how he had lived with the Mime; how he had forged his good sword Nothung. After he had told about Fafner the Dragon, Hagen interrupted him and bade him drink again. Then he gave Siegfried a horn of wine, into which he had unnoticed poured another potion, which was to disenchant the knight. As in a dream, Siegfried’s memory returned. He told of slaying the Dragon, and then of the little bird who directed him to a beautiful maiden who slept upon a rock, surrounded by fire.

“It was Bruennhilde,” he cried, joyfully; “I waked her and made her mine.” At this saying, all the company roused themselves and regarded each other with troubled looks. Siegfried had confirmed the story that Bruennhilde had told.

At that moment two ravens, which Wotan had sent out from Walhall to learn the time when the doom of the Eternals had come, flew from a thicket near by, and Siegfried raised himself up to watch them. He turned his back to Hagen, and instantly the warrior plunged his sword into the knight’s back and Siegfried fell dead.

There was a frightful outcry then from all, and Gunther, remembering the truth, knowing that Siegfried had been betrayed by magic, and had believed himself to be serving Gunther without harm, felt remorse and knelt beside the body. Hagen turned away and went into the hills, while the vassals gathered about, prepared to take the body to the hall of the Gibichungs. As the funeral procession moved off, to the measure of wonderful music, the moon rose, its light flooded all the valley, and touched the corpse.

Back at the hall, Gutrune had risen from sleep, believing she heard some strange, threatening sound. First she went to Bruennhilde’s door, but she appeared to be asleep. Next she went to the entrance of the great hall and listened, but she heard nothing; then after a little she saw Hagen, wearing a fearful look, coming from the river’s bank. Something in her heart told her that a dreadful thing had happened.

“What misfortune has come to Siegfried?” she cried.

“They come bearing his body,” Hagen answered, looking upon the ground.

Scene III

After Hagen, came the men bearing the body, and when Gutrune saw it, she shrieked and fell upon it.

“Who hath done this wicked thing?” she shrieked, and Hagen looked at Gunther.

“Nay,” said Gunther, shaking his head angrily, “do not look at me. It was not I who did this. It was that accursed man,” and he pointed to Hagen. Already the fight for the ring, in the hall of the Gibichungs was beginning to divide brothers. “May grief and ill-fate be thine, forever!”

“Well,” said Hagen, “I admit the deed, and now I claim my heritage the ring of the Nibelungen!” He tried to take the ring from the dead man’s finger.

“Never shalt thou have it,” Gutrune cried, flinging herself upon him.

“Away! What I have won, thou shalt ne’er make thine!” Gunther shouted. “Dost think to grasp Gutrune’s dower?” The two men fell a-fighting; and Hagen, piercing Gunther’s breast, sprang aside, while Gunther fell dead. Instantly Hagen leaped toward Siegfried’s body to snatch the ring; but slowly, slowly the dead hand was raised threateningly, and Gutrune shrieked out.

Bruennhilde, who now appeared, advanced toward the corpse, solemnly.

“Do ye who have betrayed me, now think to make that which is mine your own?” she asked, looking at the company contemptuously, and speaking in a grave voice. “Thou wert no wife of his,” she said to Gutrune. “Naught that was his is thine.” Gutrune looked steadily at Bruennhilde, and believing that she spoke the truth, she crouched down beside her brother’s body, and did not move again. Bruennhilde’s appearance was so noble that her word convinced everybody and more than that, Siegfried’s story and his last cry had told them the truth.

“Now,” said Bruennhilde to the vassals, “bring great logs and heap them high beside the river Rhein. There shalt Siegfried’s body find a tomb. Bring, too, his steed, and let it await me, here.” While Bruennhilde knelt beside Siegfried’s beloved body, the men heaped up the logs and the women strewed the top of the pile with garlands. The vassals came for Siegfried’s body and as they lifted it, Bruennhilde drew the ring from his finger.

“There, ye sorrowing Rhein maidens, I give ye back this accursed ring,” she cried. “Give heed, ye wayward sisters; this ring which has brought so much sorrow to Gods and men, shall now become yours. I thus restore the Rheingold to its owners. I place the ring upon my finger, and when I have leaped into the flames beside my Siegfried, the ring shall be purged by fire from all the stains that have come upon it since it was so wrongfully come by. Take the ring from amid the ashes, and return with it to your water-home.” She flung a great brand upon the heap of wood where Siegfried’s body lay, and immediately two ravens flew from the heap.

“Go thou, ye ravens, to Walhall, and tell Wotan what ye have seen. The end of Godhood is near. Then go to the rock where Loge burneth and tell him to go to Walhall.” The ravens flew away, while the flames leaped about Siegfried. Turning to the horse, Grane, and putting her hand lovingly upon him, Bruennhilde took off his bridle. “Now, Siegfried, we join thee,” she cried, and giving her great war-cry, Bruennhilde sprang upon the horse, and together they leaped upon the burning bier. Instantly the flames roared and flared high and seemed to seize upon the Hall of the Gibichungs, while all the company fled, crowding close together. When the fire was at its worst, the river Rhein overflowed its banks and rolled upon the land, extinguishing the flames. On the waves, the three Rhein-daughters swam and hovered over the place where the bodies were. Hagen, who saw before him the loss of the ring, became frantic with despair, so he rushed into the flood, to wrench the treasure from the maidens, but Woglinde and Wellgunde threw their arms about him, dragged him down into the depths, and swam away with him.

Flosshilde, having found the ring, swam before them, holding up the prize triumphantly. A great bank of clouds had piled up beyond the river, and soon this began to glow, as if with fire. The Rhein returned to its natural bed, while the maidens swam once more happily in its waters. The Hall of the Gibichungs had been destroyed, and all the vassals and women had crowded together, watching the scene with horror and wonderment. As the fiery clouds glowed more and more brightly, the Palace of the Gods appeared, and the inner courts of Walhall could be seen, brightly lighted by the fire which was consuming it. Wotan and the Eternals sat within, surrounded by the heroes and the Valkyries. All awaited the flames without resistance, and as the Gibichungs looked, Loge, the spirit of flame, seized upon everything and the Eternals were seen no more.

THE MASTERSINGERS OF NUREMBERG

CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA

Hans Sachs, shoemaker
Veit Pogner, goldsmith
Kunz Vogelgesang, furrier
Konrad Nachtigal, tinsmith
Sixtus Beckmesser, town clerk
Fritz Kothner, baker
Balthasar Zorn, pewterer 
Ulrich Eisslinger, grocer
Augustin Moser, tailor
Hermann Ortel, soap boiler
Hans Schwarz, stocking weaver
Hans Foltz, coppersmith
Walther von Stolzing, a young knight from Franconia.
David, Sachs’s apprentice.
Eva, Pogner’s daughter.
Magdalene, Eva’s nurse.
Night Watchman.

Burghers, women of all guilds, journeymen, apprentices, girls, and people.

The action takes place in Nuremberg about the middle of the sixteenth century.

Composer: Richard Wagner.

ACT I

Four hundred years ago in Nuremberg there was a great rivalry among the townsmen, as to who was the best singer. Indeed, in the history of this great yearly competition, some had become so noted for their excellence, that in a spirit of fairness they had almost ceased to compete. There were twelve Mastersingers, and this number was to be added to by future competitions. Among those who had removed themselves from the contest (because his previous successes made it unfair that he should continue) was Hans Sachs, the cobbler. Hans was beloved by all, and had a spirit as well as a genius above his fellows.

The prize for which the singers contended had hitherto been a sum of money, given by the rich man of the city, one Veit Pogner, a goldsmith, but upon the occasion we are about to describe he had decided to make the prize far more precious. He agreed to give his daughter Eva in marriage to the best singer, provided she could love him; and if she could not love him, she was to live unmarried for the rest of her days.

On the morning of the preliminary trial, when those qualified to enter the real competition were to be chosen, the good folk of Nuremberg were assembled in the church, singing the last hymn. Eva and her nurse, Magdalene, were there and also the knight, Walther von Stolzing, a newcomer in Nuremberg, greatly in love with Eva. She, too, loved him, but it would have displeased her father had she been seen speaking with the handsome stranger.

Upon that day, both the young people lingered after the others had gone, in order to get speech together. All the time the hymn was being sung, the two looked tenderly at each other, and these glances were surprised by the devoted nurse, Magdalene. When the service was over, and Eva was near the door, she pretended to have left her handkerchief in her pew, and she sent Magdalene back to find it.

The lovers had but a minute together before Magdalene returned, so Eva had to think of a new way to be rid of her.

“Where can my buckle be,” she cried, looking about her. “I must have left that as well”; and back Magdalene went the second time. She had no sooner returned than Eva found she had forgotten her book, and back the nurse went again, grumbling and declaring that Master Pogner would be in a rage if he knew what was going on.

“Only promise that thou wilt marry me,” Walther urged, while the nurse was gone for the last time.

“Now what do you mean by standing there and talking love?” Magdalene cried on her return, angry and half frightened, because she was responsible for her nursling’s conduct. “Don’t you know, Sir Walther, that Eva is to be given in marriage to the singer who shall this year carry off the prize otherwise she may not marry at all?”

“The prize? What does she mean?” he questioned, greatly agitated.

“It is for him who shall prove to be the best singer in Nuremberg.” The knight looked dejected.

“Can you not sing?” Eva asked anxiously.

“Alas, I do not know. I think not; I have never tried. What must I sing?”

“A song that you have made yourself, Sir Knight; you must make both rhyme and music yourself according to the rules of the Mastersingers.”

“I fear I could never do it unless I should be inspired by my love for you. Alas! I fear we are lost unless your father can be persuaded to change his mind.”

“Nay, he cannot.” Eva shook her head sadly, “He has given his word and cannot break it. You must try to sing for love of me,” she pleaded.

Walther was quite distracted at the prospect. Meantime, after the church had become empty, David, the apprentice of Hans Sachs, came in with a great piece of chalk stuck in his belt, and carrying a big rule. Magdalene was quite in love with David, so that when Eva appealed to her for help, she had turned her attention to the apprentice.

“David, what are you doing there?” she cried, in order to give the lovers a little more time.

“Doing? Why is it not weighty business to-day? The Mastersingers are to have a trial of voices, to be sure. The pupil, whoever he may be, whose voice is fine and whose composition breaks none of the rules that govern those things is to be made free to enter for the prize; and later, when the great festival of song is on, he may even become a Mastersinger, himself.”

“There, Sir Knight, is your opportunity! You must be the pupil. Eva, we must be gone and leave Sir Walther to try for thee.”

“Oh, heaven! I am all of a fright. I fear I shall never understand what is expected of me,” Walther cried distractedly.

“David here shall tell you, Sir Walther. Here, David, help this brave gentleman all that you can. I wish it.” She looked admonishment at him.

“Tell him all the plan of the Mastersingers and how they will expect him to conduct himself in the competition. Come, Eva.” But Eva still lingered. In came two other apprentices, bearing benches. Walther watched those formidable preparations with uneasiness, walking up and down the church in dismay.

“Good heaven! I am sure I cannot sing. I have never tried to sing. I shall never be able to sing. Yet I must sing. What in the world can a man do, in such a fix?”

“Well, well, do the best you can. David will instruct you, Sir Knight,” said Magdalene, and she hurried away with Eva, leaving the poor knight alone with the apprentices.

These chaps came in thick and fast, bringing benches for the Mastersingers to sit upon, and arranging everything in the church for the trial of song. David kept watching Walther, who had flung himself into a great ecclesiastical chair, and sat there brooding. After observing him in silence for a time, David shouted:

“Begin,” Walther started.

“What for?”

“Begin!”

“What for?”

“What for? why that is how the Marker calls. You must then at once go and sing. Don’t you understand anything about this business?” he asked in amazement.

“Who is the Marker?” Poor Walther asked, more and more bewildered.

“Were you never before at a singing trial?”

“Not where the judges were craftsmen,” Walther answered. He was quite certain if he knew anything about music, it could not be the kind that shoe-makers, and boiler makers, and the like were acquainted with.

“Are you a poet?”

“I wish I were,” Walther sighed dejectedly.

“Are you then a ’scholar’?”

“Lord, no, I think not I don’t know. What is a ’scholar?”

“Don’t know that, and yet expect to become a Mastersinger!” David cried, in amazement. “Well, now, let me tell you, Sir Knight, no one gets to be a Mastersinger in a minute! For a full year, Hans Sachs, our greatest master, has been teaching me the art, and I am not yet even a ‘scholar.’”

Shoemaker’s craft and Poet’s art,
Daily I learn by the heart.
First, all the leather smooth I hammer,
Consonants then, and vowels I stammer.
Next must the thread be stiff with wax,
Then I must learn it rhymes with Sachs.

David continued to tell of the difficulties of learning from a cobbler how to become a Mastersinger, though the cobbler was one himself. By the time David had finished telling Walther about the process of shoemaking and music making, Walther threw up his hands in despair.

“Defend me from learning the cobbler’s trade,” he cried, half humorously, yet troubled.

“You must learn:

The shortened, long, and over-long tones;
The paper mode, the black-ink mode;
The scarlet, blue, and verdant tones;
The hawthorn bloom, strawhalm, fennel mode:
The tender, the dulcet, the rosy tone;
The passing passion, the forgotten tone;
The rosemary, wallflower mode;
The rainbow mode and the nightingale mode
The English tin, the cinnamon mode,
Fresh pomegranates, green linden-bloom mode;
The lonely gormandizer mode,
The skylark, the snail, the barking tone;
And the honey flower, the marjoram mode;
The lion’s skin, true pelican mode,
The bright glittering thread mode.”

“Dreadful, dreadful,” cried poor Walther. “What an endless medley of tones!”

“Oh, those are only the titles; after that comes the singing and it has to be according to rules, remember.”

Walther groaned. David at once outlined some of the rules; they appeared quite hopeless.

“Why no one in the world could meet such demands, it is ridiculous.”

“You had better not say so,” David answered, significantly. “I want you to know that the great Mastersingers of Nuremberg run this thing; and it doesn’t make any difference to anybody but you and Herr Pogner’s daughter whether you approve or not.” At the mention of Eva, Walther tried to control his feelings; he must try at least, the Lord help him to come out somewhere in the midst of all that shoemaker’s music of “modes” and “thread” and “buttons” and what-not!

By this time the apprentices had erected a small stage with a chair and a desk upon it and a blackboard behind, with a piece of chalk hanging from a long string upon the board, and all about that funny arrangement were black curtains which could be drawn close.

“The Marker will let seven faults slip by,” David explained to the knight; but if he finds more than seven it is all over for the candidate.

So God save you from disaster,
May you, to-day, be a master,

he wound up poetically.

Having finished their preparations, the apprentices began to dance about in a ring. In the midst of the jollity in came Pogner from the sacristy; also, Beckmesser, who was the town clerk and a singer who believed in himself.

David took his place at the sacristy door, to let in the other Mastersingers, and the other apprentices stood waiting before the bench at back. Walther, sick to death through being teased by the apprentices, had sat himself down on the very front seat, and there, before all, was the dreaded Marker’s seat. There was the great “singing chair” where the candidate was to sit while under trial. Pogner stood talking with the town clerk, Beckmesser.

“Herr Pogner,” the latter was saying, “I know what this prize is to be, and I love your daughter with all my soul.” Beckmesser, who was a rather old and absurd chap, made a sentimental and dramatic gesture. “I want to beg of you if there is any preference shown, that it be shown to me.”

“I cannot say there will be any favours shown, Beckmesser, but my plan should serve you well. Eva is to go to the best singer in case of course that she loves him. She shall not be forced; and who sings so well as you?”

“Yet, in certain respects, I am weak,” Beckmesser murmured. “I should like those weak points to be passed over.” He was a foxy old fellow, far too old for the lovely Eva, and he was quite willing to take an unfair advantage of his brother singers.

Walther then jumped from his chair and went to Pogner.

“Herr Pogner, may I have speech with you?” he asked.

“What, Sir Walther seeks me in singing school?”

“Yet it is a fitting place, because, to tell the truth, Herr Pogner, I came to Nuremberg town, solely for the love of art,” he said promptly, hoping he would be forgiven for the lie. “I failed to mention this yesterday, but to-day it seems fitting to tell you because I wish to enter the competition. In short, I wish to become a Mastersinger.” Walther was fairly amazed at his own bravado. At the same moment, Kunz Vogelgesang and Konrad Nachtigal entered.

“Vogelgesang, Nachtigal, listen to this: here is a noble knight,
Walther of Stolzing, well known to me, who wishes to join our singing.
This is very fine. I am sure we all welcome you to our guild, Sir
Walther,” he cried heartily. Beckmesser, who had observed the handsome
Walther, became uneasy.

“If anything should go wrong with my singing,” he thought, “I should stand small chance any other way with this whipper-snapper. I’ll go to-night beneath Eva’s window and sing a serenade which will surely win her heart. I’ll not lose her even if this great knight should prove to be a great singer.” Every time he thought of Walther, it was with a sneer. On the whole, Beckmesser was a nasty little man, even though he was quite a singer. He was old and ugly and it was quite ridiculous of him to think of marrying Eva.

Walther, still speaking with Pogner, confessed:

“My strongest reason for entering this competition is love for your dear daughter. I know well that she is to be the prize.” Pogner was well pleased, for he liked the knight.

“I am glad to hear you say this, Sir Knight; but the matter has to be settled after the promise I have given according to certain regulations set down by the Mastersingers; but I shall try to give you the best of chances.” Pogner said this heartily, for he would like to have that fine fellow for a son-in-law. Meanwhile, all the Mastersingers had arrived by way of the sacristy door, and Hans Sachs the very last. Kothner took from his pocket the list of names of those who were to sing, and standing apart, he began to call the roll. Each responded to his name, and then Pogner formally announced what the prize was to be. Each man cried that he would be the one to win the prize since it was such a prize.

“But remember,” Pogner interrupted their enthusiasm, “although I am determined she shall marry none but him who wins the prize, if she should not love that singer, she shall not be forced, but shall remain single all the rest of her life”; and with that they had to be content.

“Let me make still a suggestion, Herr Pogner,” Hans Sachs, the shoemaker spoke up. He loved Eva with all his heart, but he was good and true and fair. He knew that he was growing old, and that he sang so finely that it was not fair he should enter into such a competition. If he sang for the prize, the contest would be won before it was begun. “Let me suggest that all the people of Nuremberg shall have a hand in choosing the best singer. To-morrow at the fête, let all the people hear the singers, and let theirs be the choice.”

“Ho, ho! Then farewell, art,” the Mastersingers cried, indignantly. “That is a fine joke, indeed, Sachs. Pray what do the people know about art? What do they know of the singing master’s rules? Bah!”

“Listen!” Sachs said, impressively. “That which the people approve, is good; they know naught of rule, but they know what beauty of song and theme is better that we. Leave it to the people’s choice and you shall not rue it. Besides, a maiden’s heart is to be disposed of, and those who are judges among us are not without selfish feelings. Let the people decide and leave the maiden free.”

“Oh, I suppose you are thinking and speaking for yourself a widower,” Beckmesser cried, trying to belittle the shoemaker.

“So little is that so, my friends, that I shall not sing.” Every one loved Hans Sachs and now recognized his generosity. “I am too old for such as she.” Thereupon Beckmesser became furious, because he was older than Hans, yet he considered himself quite young enough to marry her.

“Well, my friends, there is one more piece of business: this young knight,” leading forth Walther, “wishes to enter the race, and I present him with right good will.” This was almost too much for the beset Beckmesser. He fairly foamed at the mouth.

“Now, I understand this matter,” he muttered aside. “Pogner would have it seem that he treated us fairly in this matter, while in reality he had this handsome fellow up his sleeve. A knight at that, and if he can sing it certainly is all up with the rest of us.” He loudly declared it was far too late for Walther to be let into the competition; but there were several opinions about that, and a good deal of wrangling. All were somewhat afraid of Walther, not knowing that he had no confidence in his own singing or making of verses. At last it was decided that he should have a trial that morning.

“But thou must say who has been thy master,” they insisted; whereupon Walther named a great master, Sir Walther of the Vogelweid.

“In truth,” Hans Sachs said, nodding kindly. “He is a great master.” Hans meant to stand by the knight and to serve him if possible, because he seemed the best choice for Eva, whom Sachs loved above everything. Walther added that, for the most part, he had learned his songs from the birds, titmouses, and finches, and the like. He loved the woods and streams, and a joyous heart made him sing in spite of himself, and the song of birds was the one he loved best to imitate. The others were inclined to jeer at these words, but Hans Sachs saw in them a beautiful nature, fine poesy.

“Very well, very well, let him begin,” all cried, and so the knight took his place in the singer’s chair while Beckmesser, who was appointed Marker, went to his place.

“As Marker, I guess I can settle his affair for him,” Beckmesser muttered, in malice. All the while Walther, was in despair, having no confidence in himself.

“It is for thee, beloved,” he murmured, trying to gain courage by putting his thoughts upon Eva. Then Beckmesser, hidden behind the curtain, cried:

“Now begin.”

Walther hesitated a moment, then began, uncertainly, to sing. It was a beautiful song of the spring. At the end of the first part, Beckmesser scratched horribly upon his slate, and sighed in a most disconcerting manner. Walther listened and his heart nearly failed him, but he began again. This time he sang of winter, and as he went on he became so much inspired that he forgot his tremendous anxiety, rose from his chair, and sang passionately, with abandon. When he came to a pause in the theme, Beckmesser burst into the group with his slate. It was all covered with chalk marks.

“Will you never have done,” he shouted angrily. “I’ve no more room in which to set marks against you. If we must go on listening to such singing we must use the side of the church if we would have room to set down your mistakes.” Every one but Hans Sachs burst out laughing.

“But I have not finished,” Walther pleaded. “Will none of you let me finish my song, good friends? It is not fair.”

“That is true, that is true, not too much zeal, Beckmesser,” Hans tried to interpose. Everybody was talking at once.

“I could not understand one word of his meaning,” one cried.

“There was false time, false everything; it was ridiculous!” another shouted.

“The most absurd thing I ever heard,” another called. In short, every one shouted and mocked and offered suggestions, except Hans Sachs who had stood apart, and after the first notes of Walther, had listened with great earnestness. In the midst of the excitement he came forward.

“Master Beckmesser, you have gone too far. We do not all agree with your opinion. The song which you despise, I find both beautiful, new, and free from fault. It is not such as we sing, but it is true and fine. I fear you have forgotten your own rules.”

“Never, never!” the Marker shouted.

“Now, friends, hear my final word. This young knight shall be heard to the end.” With a decisive gesture he motioned Walther to the chair again. All shouted “No, no!” but Sachs insisted and amidst the riot and hullabaloo Walther again began his song. His clear, beautiful voice was heard above the noise, but every one was engaged in telling what they thought about it. Only Sachs stood determined, trying to quiet the frightful uproar. Beckmesser was making a terrible to-do, and the apprentices were shouting with laughter, following the lead of their masters. After a little, Walther became so confused that at last he could sing no longer.

The apprentices began to dance wildly about their masters, and in the midst of the extraordinary scene, the knight descended from the chair, and turned away with a contemptuous glance. He was about to go, as the Mastersingers were struggling toward the door; but to add to the confusion the apprentices who had torn up the benches began marching about with them. While Walther, the Mastersingers, and the apprentices were struggling out, Sachs stood looking at the singer’s chair, where Walther had lately sat, singing so beautifully that none but the splendid Sachs, with his good soul and his poetic nature, had been able to understand how great it was.

ACT II

Night of the same day came on, and David and other apprentices were putting up the shutters of their masters’ houses, before it became too late. Hans Sachs’s house which was also his workshop stood in a corner made by a little crooked path which crossed a Nuremberg street; while Pogner’s house, much finer altogether quite grand stood opposite. Beside Hans’s house grew an elder tree, and beside Pogner’s, a lime. Magdalene, very anxious to know from David what had taken place in the church, had gone from her master’s house with a little basket of the good things which David liked. This gave her a good excuse to seek him.

“What happened to the handsome knight?” she inquired, standing on Hans’s side of the way, and speaking with David.

“Why what should happen? He was rejected, of course,” David answered sulkily, while all the other apprentice boys laughed at him because Magdalene, his sweetheart, was trying to pump him.

“Ho, ho! Then you get nothing out of my basket,” she answered, walking off. Again the boys mocked him, and he grew very angry, telling them to be off about their business. The quarrel grew so loud that finally Sachs, coming home unexpectedly, burst into the midst of them and scattered them.

“What is all this?” he cried.

“The rascals are plaguing me, master,” David growled.

“Well, get thee within and light the lamp; lock up and bring the lamp here to me; after that, put the shoes on the lasts and go”; and as David went into the workshop to obey, Sachs followed. At that moment, Eva and her father passed along the path, and seeing the light in Sachs’s house, Pogner peeped through the chink of the door.

“If Sachs is there I shall stop in and speak with him,” he said to Eva. David just then came from the house with a lamp which he placed upon the work-bench, and seating himself began work upon a pair of shoes.

“To-morrow will be a fine day for the festival,” Pogner said to his daughter, as they seated themselves upon a stone bench, on their own side of the path.

“But, father, must I certainly marry the best singer?” Eva asked anxiously.

“Not unless he pleases thee; but in case he does not, Eva, I have decided that thou shalt marry no other.” He was interrupted by Magdalene who came to bid them to supper. Eva lingered behind to get a private word with her.

“What about the knight? Did he succeed?” she asked so anxiously that it broke Magdalene’s heart to tell her the truth.

“David said not but he would not tell what had happened.”

“Maybe I can learn from Hans Sachs; he loves me very much, and may feel some distress over my trouble. I shall ask him.” Just then Sachs came to the door of his house.

“Come, boy,” he said to David, “put up thy work for the night, and get thee to bed; to-morrow will be a busy day. Put my stool and table outside the door that I may finish a pair of shoes, and then get thee to bed.” David gathered up his tools, and after arranging Sachs’s work bade him good night. Sachs sat down, with his hands behind his head, and instead of going at once to work, began to think upon the day’s happenings and other things, maybe. He leaned his arms upon the lower half of the door and sometimes spoke his thoughts aloud:

“Truly the young knight is a poet,” he mused. Hans himself was a true poet, tender and loving, and he could think of nothing but Eva’s good. Becoming nervous and apprehensive while thinking of her he began to hammer at a shoe, but again he ceased to work and tried to think. “I still hear that strain of the young knight’s” and he tried to recall some part of the song. While he mused thus alone, Eva stole shyly over to the shop. It had now become quite dark and the neighbours were going to bed.

“Good evening, Master Sachs! You are still at work?” she asked softly. Hans started.

“Yes, my child, my dear Evchen. I am still at work. Why are you still awake? Ah, I know it is about your fine new shoes that you have come, those for to-morrow!”

“Nay, they look so rich and fine, I have not even tried them on.”

“Yet to-morrow you must wear them as a bride, you know.”

“Whose shoes are these that you work upon, Master Sachs,” she asked, wishing to change the subject.

“These are the shoes of the great Master Beckmesser,” Sachs answered, smiling a little at the thought of the bumptious old fellow.

“In heaven’s name put plenty of pitch in them, that he may stick, and not be able to come after me,” she cried.

“What you do not favour Beckmesser, then?”

“That silly old man,” she said scornfully.

“Well, there is a very scanty batch of bachelors to sue for thee, or sing for thee,” Hans answered, looking lovingly at her, with a little smile.

“Well, there are some widowers,” Eva said returning his friendly look. Hans laughed outright.

“Ah, dear Evchen, it is not for an old chap like me to snare a young bird like thee. At the trial to-day, things did not go well,” he ventured, trying to turn the conversation.

Instantly Eva was all attention, and she got from him the story of Walther’s failure and unfair treatment, just as Magdalene called from the house over the way.

“St st,” she whispered. “Thy father has called for thee.”

“I’ll come presently,” Eva answered. Then to Hans: “But tell me, dear Hans, was there not one who was his friend? Is there no hope?”

“No master has hope among other masters,” Hans replied, sorrowfully. “I fear there is nothing for him but to give thee up.” Hans knew well that Eva loved the knight.

“What man has a friend, whose own greatness makes other men feel small?” he asked still more sadly. “It is the way with men.”

“It is shameful,” she cried angrily, and hurried across the street. Hans closed the upper half of his door, so that he was almost shut in, and only a little light showed through.

“Eva,” Magdalene called at the house door, “that Beckmesser has been here to say he is coming to serenade you, and to win your love. Did ever one hear of such a ridiculous rascal.”

“I will not hear him,” Eva declared angrily. “I will not. I am going to see Walther to-night, and I will not see Beckmesser. Look out and see if any one is coming.” Walther was at that moment coming round the corner of the path, and Eva rushed toward him.

“You have heard that I may not sing to win thee?” he said under his breath, for fear Pogner should hear him. At that moment the horn of the Night Warder was heard, which assured them that the town was all quiet and people gone to bed.

“It does not matter, I have made up my mind. I will never give the victor’s crown to any one but thee, and so we shall flee together this night, at once, before it is too late.” Walther, beside himself with joy, looked after her while she hurried into the house to get ready for flight. The Night Warder came round the house corner.

Hear all folk, the Warder’s ditty,
’Tis ten o’clock in our city;
Heed well your fire and eke your light,
That none may be harmed this night!

Praise ye God, the Lord!

He blew a long loud blast upon his trumpet.

Hans Sachs had heard the plan concocted between the lovers, from behind his nearly closed door; so he put out the lamp, that he might not be seen, and opened his door a little way. He could never permit them to elope; it would cause no end of trouble. After a moment Eva and Magdalene came from Pogner’s house with a bundle, while at the same moment Walther came from the shadow of the lime tree to meet them. They were hurrying off together when the clever shoemaker caught up his lamp from its place of concealment and turned it full upon the alley-way, so that it shone directly upon the path of the lovers.

Eva and Walther found themselves standing together in a bright light, when they had thought to escape unseen in the darkness. Again the Warder’s horn was heard at a distance.

“Oh, good gracious! We shall be caught,” Eva whispered, frightened half to death, as Walther drew her out of the streaming light.

“Which way shall we go?” he whispered, uneasily.

“Alas! look there at that old rascal, Beckmesser,” she returned, distracted with fright and anger, as she saw the old fool come in sight with his lute strung over his shoulder, while he twanged it lightly.

The moment Hans saw Beckmesser he had a new thought. He withdrew the light a little and opened the door. Then in the half light he placed his bench in the doorway and began to work upon a pair of shoes.

“It is that horrible Marker who counted me out this morning,” Walther murmured, looking at Beckmesser as he stole along the pathway. Then almost at once, Beckmesser began to bawl under Eva’s window.

He looked up where he supposed her to be, in the most languishing manner, so that Walther and Eva would have laughed outright, if they had not been in such a coil.

He no sooner had struck the first notes, than Hans Sachs gave a bang upon his shoe-last. Thus began an awful scrimmage. Hans Sachs, disliking the absurd old Beckmesser as much, if not more, than others did, banged away at Beckmesser’s shoes, in a most energetic way. He made such a frightful din that Beckmesser could hardly hear himself sing.

The town clerk tried by every device to stop the shoemaker, to get him to put aside his cobbling for the night, but Hans answered that he had to work lively if he hoped to get the shoes done for the fête. Beckmesser did not dare tell why he was there, singing at that hour. Walther and Eva remained prisoners under the lime tree, wondering what on earth to do. After a while, poor Beckmesser, making the most frantic efforts to hear his own voice, pleaded with Hans to stop.

“I’ll tell thee what to do it will make the time pass pleasantly for me as well, you see,” Hans cried. “Do thou go ahead and sing, and I’ll be Marker. For every mistake of thine, I’ll hammer the shoe. Of course there will be so few mistakes that there will then be but little pounding.” Beckmesser caught at that suggestion. Of course it was imprudent, but then Beckmesser was in a bad way, and it was his only chance. So he began his serenade once more. Then Hans began to “mark” him. Before he had sung a line, Hans’s hammer was banging away in the most remarkable manner. Even Walther and Eva had to laugh, frightened as they were. Beckmesser became so furious he could hardly speak. Sachs pretended to see nothing, and “marked” away valiantly. Then the Night Watch could be heard coming. Hans banged louder. Beckmesser put his fingers in his ears, that he might drown the sound of Hans and the Warder, and keep on the key. Hans too began to sing as he waxed his threads and banged upon his shoes. Meantime windows were going up, the people who had gone to bed having wakened.

“Stop your bawling there,” one shouted.

“Leave off howling,” another screamed.

“What’s the matter? Have you gone crazy down there,” others yelled, but Beckmesser still shrieked, unable to hear anybody but himself and Hans.

“Listen to that donkey bray,” a neighbour called.

“Hear the wild-cat,” another bawled; and in the midst of the singing Magdalene stuck her head out of the window. Beckmesser, thinking it was Eva, was encouraged to keep on, but David, who had come out at the rumpus, believed that Beckmesser was serenading Magdalene, and instantly became jealous. So out he rushed with a cudgel. The neighbours then began to come from their houses in their night-gowns and caps; some wearing red flannel about their heads and some in very short gowns, and all looking very funny. Meanwhile, Hans, who had got the row started, withdrew into his house and shut the door. Walther and Eva were still trembling under the lime tree, sure of being discovered, now that all Nuremberg was aroused and on the spot.

Beckmesser was surrounded by the neighbours, the apprentices came from every shop to swell the crowd, also the journeymen, while all the women bawled from the house windows where they were hanging out half way. David and Beckmesser were wrestling all over the place, Beckmesser’s lute being smashed and his clothes torn off him. At last the Mastersingers themselves arrived.

Walther, at last deciding that the time had come when he must rescue Eva, drew his sword and rushed forth. Hans, who had been watching behind his door, then ran out, pushed his way through the mob and caught Walther by the arm. At that moment Poof! Bist! the women in the windows threw down buckets of water over all the people, and Beckmesser was half drowned in the streams. This added to the confusion, so that Hans grasped Walther, and Pogner his daughter; Sachs and Walther retired into Sachs’s house and Eva was dragged within her own. As Sachs disappeared, he gave David a kick which sent him flying, to pay him for his part in the fight.

Beckmesser, battered half to pieces, limped off, while the crowd, dripping wet and with ardour cooled, slunk out. When all was perfectly quiet and safe, and not a sound stirring, on came the Night Warder. It was comical to see the way he looked all about the deserted place, as if he had been taking a little nap, while all Nuremberg had been fighting like wild-cats, and he quavered out in a shaky voice:

Hear, all folks, the Warder’s ditty,
Eleven strikes in our city,
Defend yourselves from spectre and sprite,
That no evil imp your soul affright.

He finished with a long-drawn cry:

Praise ye God, the Lord,

and all was still.

ACT III

The morning of the song festival dawned clear and fine. Early in the morning, Hans Sachs seated himself in his shop, beside his sunny window, his work on the bench before him, but he let it go unheeded as he fell to reading. David found his master thus employed when he stole into the shop, after peeping to make sure that Hans would pay no attention to him. David was not at all sure of the reception his master would give him after the riot in which he had taken a hand the night before. As Hans did not look up, David set the basket he carried upon the table, and began to take out the things in it. First there were flowers and bright-coloured ribbons, and at the very bottom a cake and a sausage. He was just beginning to eat the sausage when Hans Sachs turned a page of his book noisily. David, knowing his guilty part in the fight, looked warily at his master.

“Master, I have taken the shoes to Beckmesser and ” Sachs looked at him abstractedly.

“Do not disturb our guest, Sir Walther,” he said, seeming to forget David’s misbehaviour. “Eat thy cakes and be happy only do not wake our guest.”

Soon David went out while Sachs still sat thinking of the situation and half decided to take a part in the contest himself since it were a shame to have Beckmesser win Eva. While he was thus lost in contemplation, Walther woke and came from his room.

“Ah, dear Hans I have had a glorious dream,” he cried. “It is so splendid that I hardly dare think of it.”

“Can it be thou hast dreamed a song?” Sachs asked breathlessly.

“Even if I had, what help would it bring me, friend Sachs, since the Mastersingers will not treat me fairly?”

“Stay, stay, Walther, not so fast! I want to say of yesterday’s experience: the Mastersingers are, after all, men of honour. They were hard on thee yesterday, but thou hast troubled them much. Thy song was as strange, its kind as new to them as it was beautiful, and they have thought of it again and again since then. If they can make themselves familiar with such beauty they will not fail to give thee credit. I own I am much troubled and know not what to do for you.”

“I wonder could it be possible that I have had an inspiration in my sleep that might lead me to win my dear Eva?” the knight said, taking heart.

“That we shall soon know. Sir Walther, stand thou there, and sing thy song, and I will sit here and write it down. So it shall not escape thee. Come, begin, Sir Knight,” Sachs cried, becoming hopeful for the young man. Trembling with anxiety Walther took his stand and began his song, while Hans placed himself at the table to write it down.

As the knight sang he became more and more inspired and when he had finished Hans Sachs was wild with delight.

“It is true! you have had a wonderful inspiration. Go now to your room, and there you will find clothing gay enough for this great occasion. No matter how it came there! it is there! I have all along believed in you, and that you would sing, and I have provided for it.” The knight went rejoicing to put on his new clothes.

Now Hans, when he went with Walther to his bedroom, had left the manuscript of the great song upon the table, and no sooner had he gone out than Beckmesser, looking through the window and finding the place empty, slipped in. He was limping from the effects of the fight and altogether cut a most ridiculous figure. He was very richly dressed, but that did not conceal his battered appearance. Every step he took he rubbed first his back and then his shins. He should have been in bed and covered with liniments. Suddenly he espied the song upon Hans’s table. He believed that after all Hans was going to sing, and if he should, all would be up with himself. Wild with rage, Beckmesser picked up the song and stuffed it into his pocket. No sooner had he done so than the bedroom door opened, and Hans Sachs came out in gala dress, ready for the festival; seeing Beckmesser, he paused in surprise.

“What, you? Sir Marker? Surely those shoes of yours do not give you trouble so soon?”

“Trouble! The devil! Such shoes never were. They are so thin, I can feel the smallest cobblestone through them. No matter about the shoes, however though I came to complain to you about them for I have found another and far worse cause of complaint. I thought you were not to sing.”

“Neither am I.”

“What, you deny it when I have just found you out!” Beckmesser cried in a foaming rage. Hans looked at the table and saw that the manuscript was gone. He grinned.

“So, you took the song, did you?” he asked.

“The ink was still wet.”

“True, I’ll be bound!”

“So then I’ve caught you deceiving!”

“Well, at least you never caught me stealing, and to save you from the charge I’ll just give you that song,” Hans replied, still smiling. Beckmesser stared at him.

“I’ll warrant you have the song by heart,” he said, narrowly eyeing the shoemaker.

“No, that I haven’t. And further than that, I’ll promise you not to lay any claim to it that shall thwart your use of it if you really want it.” Hans spoke carelessly, watching the greedy town clerk from the tail of his eye.

“You mean truly, that I may use that song as I like?”

“Sing it if you like and know how,” Sachs said obligingly.

“A song by Hans Sachs!” he exclaimed, unable to hide his joy because no one in Nuremberg could possibly write a song like Sachs. “Well, well, this is very decent of you, Sachs! I can understand how anxious you are to make friends with me, after your bad treatment last night.” Beckmesser spoke patronizingly, while his heart was fairly bursting with new hope. Any song by Hans Sachs would certainly win him the prize, even if he could but half sing it.

“If I am to oblige you by using this song,” he hesitated, “then swear to me you will not undo me by laying claim to it.” After all, he was feeling considerable anxiety about it. That he should be saved in this manner was quite miraculous.

“I’ll give my oath never to claim it so long as I live,” Sachs answered earnestly, thinking all the while what a rascal Beckmesser was. “But, friend Beckmesser, one word; I am no scoffer, but truly, knowing the song as I do, I have my doubts about your being able to learn it in an hour or so. The song is not easy.”

“Have no fear, Hans Sachs. As a poet, your place is first, I know; but believe me, friend, when it comes to ‘tone’ and ‘mode,’ and the power to sing, I confess I have no fear nor an equal,” the conceited ass declared. “I tell you, confidentially, I have now no fear of that presumptuous fellow, Walther. With this song and my great genius, we shall no longer fear his bobbing upon the scene and doing harm.” Assured of success at last, away went Beckmesser, limping and stumbling, to learn his song.

“Well, never did I see so malicious a fellow,” Hans declared, as Beckmesser stumbled out of sight. “And there comes Evchen hello, my Evchen, thou art dressed very fine. Well, well, it is to be thy wedding day, to be sure.”

“Yes but the shoe pinches,” she said putting her little foot upon the bench.

“That will never do. That must be fixed,” Hans answered gravely, his eyes twinkling. He fell to examining the shoes. “Why, my child, what is wrong with it? I find it a very fine fit?”

“Nay, it is too broad.”

“Tut, tut, that is thy vanity. The shoe fits close, my dear.”

“Well, then I think it is the toes that hurt or maybe the heel, or maybe ” she looked all about, hoping to see Walther. At that moment he entered, and Eva cried out. Then Hans said:

“Ah, ah! Ho, ho! That is where the shoe pinches, eh? Well, be patient, that fault I shall mend very soon,” he declared, thinking of the song that Beckmesser had stolen, while he took off the shoe and sat once more at his bench. Then he said slyly:

“Lately I heard a beauteous song. I would I might hear its third verse once more.” Immediately, Walther, looking at Eva, began softly to sing the famous song. As it magically swelled, Sachs came to her and again fitted the shoes. When the song was rapturously finished, Eva burst into hysterical sobbing, and threw herself into the shoemaker’s arms. But this scene was interrupted by the coming of Lena and David, all dressed for the fête.

“Come, just in time!” Sachs cried. “Now listen to what I have to say, children. In this room, a song has just been made by this knight, who duly sang it before me and before Eva. Now, do not forget this, I charge you; so let us be off to hear him christened a Mastersinger.”

All then went out into the street except David, who lingered a moment to fasten up the house. All the way to the meadow where the fête was to be held were sounding trumpets and horns, glad shouts and laughter. Very soon the little group from Sachs’s reached the fête, and there they found a gala sight.

Many guilds had arrived and were constantly arriving. Colours were planted upon the raised benches which each guild occupied by itself. A little stream ran through the meadow, and upon its waters boats were continually being rowed, full of laughing men and women, girls and boys. As each new guild disembarked, it planted its colours. Refreshment stands were all about, and apprentices and journeymen were having great sport.

The apprentices and girls began a fine dance, while the people kept landing at the dock and coming from their boats.

There came the bakers, the tailors, and the smiths; then the informal gaiety came to a sudden pause and the cry went up that the great Mastersingers themselves had arrived. They disembarked and formed a long procession, Kothner going ahead bearing the banner, which had the portrait of King David and his harp upon it.

At sight of the banner all waved their hats, while the Masters proceeded to their platform.

When they had reached their place, Pogner led Eva forward, and at the same moment Hans Sachs arrived and again all waved and cheered loudly. Eva took the place of honour, and behind them all was Beckmesser, wildly struggling to learn his great song. He kept taking the manuscript from his pocket and putting it back, sweating and mumbling, standing first on one of his sore feet and then upon the other, a ridiculous figure, indeed.

At length, Sachs stood up and spoke to those who had welcomed him so graciously.

“Friends, since I am beloved of thee, I have one favour to ask. The prize this day is to be a unique one, and I ask that the contest be open. It is no more than fair, since so much is to be won. I ask that no one who shall ask for a chance to sing for this fair prize be denied. Shall this be so?”

While he waited for an answer, every one was in commotion.

“Say, Marker,” he asked of Beckmesser, “is this not as it should be?”

That rascal was wiping his face from which the sweat was streaming and trying in despair to conquer the knight’s song.

“You know you need not sing that song unless you wish,” Hans reminded him, aside.

“My own is abandoned, and now it is too late for me to make another,” Beckmesser moaned; “but with you out of the contest well, I shall surely win with anything. You must not desert me now.”

“Well, let it be agreed,” Hans cried aloud, “that the contest shall be open to all; so now begin.”

“The oldest first,” Kothner cried, thus calling attention to the age of Beckmesser. “Begin, Beckmesser,” another shouted.

“Oh, the devil,” Beckmesser moaned, trying to peep again at the song which he had not been able to learn. He desperately ascended the mound which was reserved for the singers, escorted by an apprentice. He stumbled and nearly fell, so excited was he, and so frightened at his plight, for he did not know the song, and he had none of his own. Altogether he was in a bad way but he was yet to be in a worse!

“Come and make this mound more firm,” he snarled, nearly falling down. At that everybody laughed. Finally he placed himself, and all waited for him to begin. This is how he sang the words of the first stanza:

Bathing in sunlight at dawning of the day,
With bosom bare,
To greet the air;
My beauty steaming,
Faster dreaming,
A garden roundelay wearied my way.

Only compare this with the words of the song as Walther sang them! The music matched the words for absurdity.

“Good gracious! He’s lost his senses,” one Mastersinger said to another. Beckmesser, realizing that he was not getting the song right, became more and more confused. He felt the amazement of the people, and that made him desperate. At last, half crazed with rage and shame, he pulled the song from his pocket and peeped at it. Then he tried again, but turned giddy, and at last tottered down from the mound, while people began to jeer at him. Hans Sachs might have been sorry for the wretch, had he not known how dishonest he had been, willing to use another’s song that he might gain the prize.

Beckmesser rushed furiously toward Sachs and shook his fist at him:

“Oh, ye accursed cobbler! Ye have ruined me,” he screamed, and rushing madly away he lost himself in the crowd. In his rage, he had screamed that the song was Sachs’s, but nobody would believe him, because, as Beckmesser had sung it, it had sounded so absurd.

Sachs took the manuscript quietly up, after Beckmesser had thrown it down.

“The song is not mine,” he declared. “But I vow it is a most lovely song, and that it has been sung wrong. I have been accused of making this, and now I deny it. I beg of the one who wrote it to come forth now and sing it as it should be sung. It is the song of a great master, believe me, friends and Mastersingers. Poet, come forth, I pray you,” he called, and then Walther stepped to the mound, modestly. Every one beheld him with pleasure. He was indeed a fine and gallant-looking fellow.

“Now, Masters, hold the song; and since I swear that I did not write it, but know the one who did let my words be proved. Stand, Sir Knight, and prove my truth.” Then Kothner took the manuscript that the Mastersingers might follow the singing and know if the knight was honest; and Walther, standing in the singers’ place, began the song a little fearfully.

The Masters following him recognized the truth of all that Hans Sachs had spoken, and presently dropped the paper in amazement. They became lost in listening to the music, which swelled higher and higher, growing more and more beautiful with every measure, till all the people of Nuremberg sat spellbound. At last:

“His prize, his prize!” they shouted; and Pogner came to him weeping with joy.

“It is thy doing,” Walther said tremblingly to Hans; and then he was conducted to where Eva awaited him. He stooped and she placed the victor’s wreath upon his head. But that was not the end. The Mastersingers turned to Pogner:

“Herr Pogner, it is thy right to crown the knight who has won this prize,” and with that Pogner hung a golden chain about Walther’s neck, from which was suspended three medals. Walther would have refused it.

“I have a dearer prize than this, my friends,” he cried, looking at Eva.

“Nay, take thy chain, too,” Sachs urged him, smiling. “That shall be the sign of the Mastersingers’ approval.” Walther bowed his head and received the chain, while the people stood up and shouted.

Thus in one day, the knight, Walther von Stolzing, became a bridegroom and a Mastersinger.

LOHENGRIN

CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA

Lohengrin, Knight of the Holy Grail.
Henry I, King of Germany.
Frederick of Telramund, a noble of Brabant.
The Royal Herald.
Gottfried, Elsa’s brother, and mute.
Four nobles of Brabant.
Elsa von Brabant.
Ortrud, wife of Telramund.
Four pages.

Saxons, nobles of Brabant, ladies, and pages.

The story is laid in Antwerp, during the first half of the tenth century.

First production at Weimar, Germany, August 28, 1850.

Composer: Richard Wagner.

ACT I

On a meadow on the banks on the river Scheldt, King Henry and his Saxon nobles were one day assembled in their hall of justice, which in those times was beneath a broad-spreading oak. From another petty German political division had come Frederick of Telramund, with his wife Ortrud. In turn they were surrounded by their own retainers from their province, but all were assembled at King Henry’s call to rally in defence of the Kingdom.

When all were awaiting Henry’s will, his Herald stepped forth and blew a blast upon his trumpet.

“Hark! Princes, Nobles, Freemen of Brabant! Our sovereign has called ye all to rally to his defence. May he count upon the loyalty of all?”

At once, the nobles took up the cry, and welcomed their sovereign to the country. Then King Henry thanked them for their good will and made the following announcement:

“Nobles, Freemen, all! I come not only to receive this welcome, but to tell ye that Germany is in danger of invasion from the Hungarian hordes; and that upon our frontiers there are German wives and children praying for our protecting arms. As the nation’s guardian it is fitting that I make an end of this misrule which has left us threatened again and again by this lawless people. As ye will recall, I made a nine years’ truce with our enemies, when they last tormented us; and now the time is past, they demand a tribute which, for the sake of our people, I have refused them. It is time for us to up and arm against them, and once for all defeat them.”

Henry spoke earnestly, with evident devotion to his subjects, and both Saxons and Brabantians responded, but the men of Brabant looked to their immediate Lord, Frederick of Telramund, for assent. He hesitated a moment, and then stepped before the King.

“Great King,” he said, “thou art here to judge, to listen to the differences of thy people, to make wrong right, so far as in thee lies, and on my part I will not stoop to falsehood. I have a grievance. Thou knowest when death took away our beloved Duke, his children, Elsa and Gottfried, were left in my charge. I became their guardian. I treasured them and guarded their interests valiantly; but one day, the two wandered forth into the forest. In time Elsa, the elder, returned, trembling and seemingly full of fear. She was alone, and when questioned about the safety of her young brother could tell us nothing. We sought for him, but never found him. She pretended to be in great distress, but her manner betrayed her guilt; of that I am certain. There were but they two, alone, and yet she could give us no intelligent story of his disappearance. A horror of the young girl fell upon me. I could not bear her in my sight, because I felt she was responsible for her young brother’s death. Her hand had been offered me in marriage by her father, but feeling that she was guilty, I gave her up. I could not have married one who, in my mind, was so wicked. Therefore I have chosen another wife, Ortrud of Radbod.” As he spoke, he brought his wife before the King and she made an obeisance.

“Now, my sovereign, I here charge the Lady Elsa with the crime, and ask thee to punish her as may be fitting. I also claim that as a fratricide she has forfeited her claim to all her lands; and as her nearest kinsman, I claim them.” There ensued a painful silence, because the Lady Elsa of Brabant was a beautiful and gentle creature, and it was difficult for any one to believe such a monstrous story of her. Then arose a great outcry against the statement.

“Telramund, what hast thou said? This is a dreadful accusation.”

“A fearful thing, indeed, Frederick,” the good King protested.

“But if thou wilt consider, great King, there is cause for my belief. The maid, believing herself sole sovereign of Brabant, now that the boy was dead, became dreamy and strange, thinking upon some other with whom she might wish to share both her fortune and her power. Me she disdained, after her younger brother was gone.”

The just King became very thoughtful for a time, then he said sadly:

“Summon the accused maid, and all of ye prepare to utter a just judgment. Heaven help me to judge her rightly!”

The Herald again sounded his trumpet.

“Dost thou determine to hold thy court of judgment here, O King?”

“Aye! I will not rest beneath my shield until the truth is sifted.” Then all the Saxon nobles, who had instantly bared their swords, struck them against the earth, but those of Brabant laid theirs flat upon the ground.

Scene II

“Appear, ye royal maid, appear!” the Herald cried, and slowly from behind the crowd of nobles the beautiful Elsa appeared. She left the ladies of her court behind her, and stood forth quite alone.

“Behold!” all cried. “See how her face is clouded with sorrow!” She appeared so beautiful and innocent that no one could believe in her guilt.

The King asked her if she were willing to recognize him as her sovereign and to abide by his judgment, and she bowed her head.

“Dost thou know the crime with which thou art charged?” he asked. Elsa looked toward Ortrud and Telramund, and bowed her head. “Canst thou deny the accusation?” he demanded in a kind voice. She shook her head, sadly, for she was without defence.

“Then dost thou confess thy guilt?” he persisted, but her only answer was:

“Oh, my poor brother!” All those present looked sorrowfully at her. The King was much touched by her hopeless bearing.

“Come, Lady, confide freely in thy sovereign.”

Then she stood alone and told what she knew had happened, as if she were speaking in a dream.

Oft when hours were lonely, I unto Heav’n have prayed,
One boon I asked for, only, to send the orphans aid;
I prayed in tears and sorrow, with heavy heart and sore,
Hoping a brighter morrow yet was for us in store.

Afar my words were wafted, I dreamt not help was nigh,
But one on high vouchsafed it, while I in sleep did lie.
I saw in splendour shining, a knight of glorious mien,
On me his eyes inclining with tranquil gaze serene.

A horn of gold beside him, he leant upon his sword,
Thus when I erst espied him ’mid clouds of light he soar’d;
His words so low and tender brought life renewed to me.
My guardian, my defender, thou shalt my champion be!

Thus she sang, while all present looked at her in amazement.

“She dreams!” they cried.

“Frederick of Telramund,” the King cried, “it is hard to believe wrong of this maiden. Think, while yet there is time, of what ye say! Do not let any hate in thy heart make thee wrong a defenceless girl,” he cautioned, while all the nobles protested that it seemed impossible she could have done so foul a thing as that of which she was accused.

“Her dreamy mood may deceive thee,” Frederick said, “but it has never deceived me. Do ye not hear that she raves about a lover? I declare that I have spoken truly, and who will dare give me the lie?” Whereupon all the nobles of Brabant came forward to uphold their Lord.

“We stand by thee, Frederick of Brabant,” they cried.

“I have always known thee to be honourable,” the King replied, turning his eyes sadly upon Elsa, who still stood gazing ahead of her, as if half dreaming, or maybe seeing the vision she had described.

“Elsa of Brabant, I have no choice but to let Heaven decide for thee. I have no proof of thy guilt or innocence. This knight Frederick is known to me as an honourable man, and I cannot slight his word, so Heaven alone can help thee.” The King drew his sword and struck it against the ground.

“Answer me, Frederick, wilt thou do battle here with whoever may appear to defend this Lady?”

“I will, right valiantly,” he answered, his wife urging him on to all that he said.

“And thou, Elsa, wilt thou name thy champion, and leave thy honour in his hands?”

“Aye,” she answered, simply.

“Then name the man,” the King demanded.

“Now we shall hear the name of her lover,” Frederick said hastily. “It will surely be he who was her accomplice.”

“To whomsoever will defend me I will give all my lands and love,” she answered firmly, waiting for some knight to stand out from the others, and declare for her cause and defence.

Each looked at the other, but no one spoke or moved. Then the King cried:

“Sound the trumpet! Call the warrior knight by thy bugle!” The Herald advanced with four trumpeters, whom he turned toward north, south, east, and west, and had them sound their trumps.

“Who will here do battle for Elsa of Brabant,” he shouted. No one answered and the lonely, defenceless Elsa looked about pitifully, in great anxiety.

“Ah, ye see how poor a cause she hath!” Frederick called, pointing to her.

“Dear sovereign, once again I beg the right to call for a defender. My knight dwells afar off, and cannot arrive at once.”

“Again sound thy trumpets,” the King directed the Herald, and again they called to the four points of the compass. Still all was silent. Then Elsa sank upon her knees, while the ladies of her court came forward to crowd protectingly about her because they loved her very much. She prayed earnestly that some defender might come to her, and so affected were all present, except Frederick and his wife, that all joined in her prayer.

Then a strange thing happened; those standing nearest the water’s edge saw a boat coming up the river, drawn by a lovely swan. In the boat stood a handsome knight, so beautiful and kind of face, and so glittering with silver armour, that they fairly held their breath in admiration.

“See!” they cried. “Some one a marvellous man appears upon the river.” All the others, excepting Elsa, who remained upon her knees, went back to the river’s edge to look.

“Oh, he is a brave knight he stands in the prow his armour gleams like the sun a swan draws him. He wears a helmet of light upon his brow. He is nearing the shore! He has golden reins upon his swan.” All but the King, Telramund, Ortrud, and Elsa were crowding about the river’s bank, to see the glorious sight.

Frederick and Ortrud were frightened, and cast strange looks of fear at each other; the King rose from his seat to see; but Elsa, overcome with joy, remained where she was, not even looking around.

“It is a miracle wrought among us,” the nobles cried, and all the ladies of the court fell upon their knees.

Scene III

The gorgeous knight drew to the shore. He wore his shield upon his back, a little silver horn at his side, and he glittered and gleamed in his beautiful armour in a way almost sufficient to blind one. The people fell back to let him land, and Frederick looked frightened, while the moment Ortrud saw the swan she was for some reason seized with a terrible fright. As everybody bowed their heads, having doffed their helmets, Elsa looked around and gave one great cry of joy at the sight of her champion, who was the knight of her dream.

Lohengrin for it was he stepped from his boat, and with one foot upon the shore and one upon his boat gave thanks to his swan for having borne him so swiftly and safely.

“Now, thou trusty swan, return at once to that land whence we came, and rejoice, for thy task is over.” After he had bade it farewell, the stately swan slowly sailed away.

Lohengrin came toward the King and bowed low.

“Hail! gracious sovereign. Thy name shall ever stand proudly in this land. I have come to fight for this dear maid’s honour. I ask her, before thee all, if she will entrust to me her fame?” Elsa, so tender and confiding, sank upon her knees before him.

“If thou wilt protect me I am thine forever,” she answered.

“I must ask of thee one promise in return, dear maid. It is this: If I win the fight in thy cause, and thou become my bride, never, as thou dost love me, must thou ask whence I came. I must never be asked by thee my name or race. This one promise alone must I crave of thee.” He waited hopefully for her answer.

His appearance was so noble that none could doubt him, and she answered instantly:

“There is no doubt of thee in my heart, dear defender. I will never question thee. I will ever cherish thy command.” He raised her to her feet, and embraced her.

“I shall guard and love thee always,” Lohengrin answered, and led her to the King who gave her into his charge. After that he stepped into the midst of the crowd of nobles.

“I want you all to know that this maid is innocent. The tales of Frederick of Telramund are false, and now I shall prove it by vanquishing him in the fight. Great King, command us to begin.” The company drew back to their places, and the King commanded six knights to measure a certain space upon each side, which he declared was a fenced field for the combat. Three Saxon nobles advanced for Lohengrin and three Brabantians for Frederick. When they had formed a circle, all stuck their spears into the ground and waited.

The Herald declared that any one who interfered should lose his head. He also declared that neither combatant should use magic arts in fighting. The King stepped into the circle made for the fighters, and prayed to Heaven to let the right conquer; to give the champion of the right a stronger arm and more skill than his enemy.

The six men forming the circle stood beside their spears which were stuck into the ground; the other nobles and freemen formed a larger circle outside the battle ground, while Elsa and her ladies stood in front, beneath the oak tree beside the King, and the fighters prepared to enter the circle. The King struck his sword three times upon his great shield which hung upon the tree, as a signal to begin. At the first stroke the fighters entered the circle; at the second stroke they raised their shields and drew their swords; at the third stroke they began the fight. After a mighty battle, Frederick fell, and Lohengrin placed the point of his sword at his throat.

“I shall spare thee, Frederick of Telramund. Repent in peace,” he said, standing aside that Telramund might get up from the ground. The six men drew their spears from the ground, and the others who had taken sides put their swords back into their scabbards, while Elsa rushed into the knight’s arms. The King cried to Lohengrin:

“Hail!” As Elsa sank upon the knight’s breast, she sang of her love for him and of her faith, and all rejoiced in having her innocence proven, except Ortrud. She, indeed, looked dark and menacing.

“How comes my power to naught?” she questioned of her husband aside, for in reality she was a wicked enchantress, who had lived in the wood near to Frederick. Her wicked magic had turned him into a bad man, and it was she who had made him accuse Elsa.

But the fear and resentment of those wicked people made little impression upon the crowd of exultant nobles. The King banished Frederick and his wife, ordering them immediately to leave the place, while plans for the wedding of Elsa and Lohengrin were being made. Frederick fell senseless upon the ground, and the youths, spreading their mantles upon the shield of the King, hoisted Elsa upon it, and a rejoicing procession of ladies, knights, and retainers moved away.

ACT II

In the great palace of King Henry I, at Antwerp, there were two parts, called the Palas, and the Kemenate. The former was where the knights lived, and the latter was the home of the ladies of the court. Late on the night of the battle between Frederick and Lohengrin, Frederick and his wife, Ortrud, were sitting without the palace, which was brightly illuminated, thinking of the misfortunes their wickedness had brought upon them. They were dressed in the garments of outcasts, as the King had commanded, and especially was Frederick gazing at the brightly lighted part where the knights were doubtless making merry since the wedding of Lohengrin and Elsa was to be on the morrow. He knew that had he been an honest man, he would have been among them and happy.

Music could be heard floating from the palace windows, and everything spoke of gaiety and happiness.

“Come, arouse thyself, Ortrud. You have brought this upon us, now rouse thyself, since it is near day, and we must be gone out of the city.”

“I cannot flee! Some strange thing holds me here. I shall avenge us, you may be sure before I have gone from this place.” She rose from the steps upon which she had been reclining and went toward the palace, looking up at the windows where the women dwelt in the Kemenate.

“I don’t know what spell binds me to a woman so wicked as thou art, Ortrud,” Frederick exclaimed, watching her moodily. “I should leave thee, and cast thee off. To tell the truth I never believed the crimes with which I charged that maiden.”

“Get thyself up,” she cried to him, for he had thrown himself upon the ground. “Thou art but a chicken-hearted creature, not fit for an heroic woman like me.”

“Thou art a black-hearted woman,” he answered, and so they fell to quarrelling vigorously. But at last, each being quite lost to goodness, they felt their only help lay in each other.

“If thou wilt be a decently conducted husband toward me, I tell thee I will use my enchantments to undo that strange knight, and then all will be well with us.” The lights in the palace began to go out, one by one. “Now is the hour when the stars reveal their secrets to me, Telramund,” she said. “Sit here by me, and I will tell you who that swan was who drew the knight’s boat upon the river. It was the brother of Elsa enchanted, whom we accused her of destroying. More than that, the knight is ruined if the secret of his home and his birth is discovered. If Elsa can be made to break her promise, and get him to reveal these things, he will be compelled to leave her and return whence he came. No one but she hath the power to drag the secret from him; but should she do so, it is as I have said: all happiness is over for them.”

“But she has promised she will never ask that fatal question.”

“Do thou go forth and say that sorcery hath triumphed over thee, and leave the rest to me. Rouse suspicion about this knight in every breast. He who will not tell of his birth nor land is soon suspected. Say that he won the fight by magic, and I will see that Elsa asks the fatal question.”

“She will never do it ”

“Well, suppose she does not; the magic of my father is not forgotten by me. Let me tell you how we may force his ruin, even if we cannot make her break her word. If that knight should lose one drop of blood, he would be lost. All his power would then be gone.”

“Oh, if I had but pricked his finger in the fight!”

“He would have been completely in thy power.” As she said this, the door of the Kemenate slowly opened, and Elsa came out upon the balcony.

Scene II

Elsa was clothed all in white, and she came out into the night to think alone of her knight, to thank Heaven for her deliverance, and to take new vows of faith and steadfastness to her promise. All the while she stood there, Frederick and Ortrud were watching her from below, where they sat upon the steps.

“Now away!” she whispered to Telramund. “It is for me to be left alone with this affair. I shall speak with her.” Telramund, hoping that by fair or foul means his wife would win him back his forfeited knighthood, departed. After a little Ortrud called in a very sweet but sad voice:

“Elsa!” Elsa started and looked over the balcony.

“Ortrud! What art thou doing here? Wert thou not told to go far away from this place, where you tried so hard to wrong me?”

“Alas! Elsa, can you who are so happy, speak harshly to one so forlorn and deserted? Indeed it was not I who harmed thee. Telramund had some strange delusion, and it was he who cast a doubt upon thee. Now his eyes are opened and he is wandering sadly and alone; but I have done thee no harm. It was he who accused thee. I could not stay him. Yet I must suffer for it all, while thou art happy and serene. I am glad of thy happiness, but do not let it make thee unfeeling toward one who is so wretched.”

That touched the soft heart of Elsa, and she listened kindly. After a little she spoke words of comfort to Ortrud:

“Hast thou no place to go this night?”

“Nay! We are quite abandoned; but I could rest well enough upon these steps if I did not remember that you had suffered through Telramund.” That made Elsa’s generous heart trouble her.

“Thou must come in, and stay this night with me,” she said. “Wait here and I shall return.” She went back into the Kemenate, and the moment she was left alone, Ortrud began rejoicing in the wickedest way, because she had been thus far successful in deceiving Elsa. Elsa returned with two of her maids bearing lights.

“Where art thou, Ortrud?” Elsa called before opening the door below the balcony; and the sorceress threw herself upon her knees and answered sweetly:

“Here, kneeling before thee, generous maiden.”

“Thou art worn and unhappy, and to-morrow is my wedding day. I could not be gay and know that thou wert suffering, so come in with me, and sleep beside me, and to-morrow array thyself in fine clothing and be happy with the rest of us.” Ortrud pretended great happiness and gratitude upon hearing this.

“Ah! Who would betray so gentle and trusting a maid?” Ortrud sighed. “I pray that the glamour which surrounds thy knight who was brought hither by magic may never depart and leave thee miserable.” She sighed again, as if she had some secret fear.

“Oh, I could not doubt him,” Elsa cried. But the same moment a little seed of distrust entered her heart. It was true she knew nothing of whence he had come; and moreover was forbidden to ask.

“Nay. Thou must never doubt him,” Ortrud said plausibly, “since thy lips are forever sealed and ye can never ask one of those questions which other maidens and wives may ask their husbands and lovers. It would not do to doubt him. Thou must try to believe he is true and good, as he himself has said.”

Elsa looked doubtfully at Ortrud, whose words had made a sad impression upon her, and yet she loved the knight so well she would not own it. But Ortrud guessed perfectly that already she had made Elsa suspicious and unhappy.

Trying to shake off the apprehension that was settling upon her because of the wicked woman’s words, Elsa led the way into the palace, and the maids locked the door, and the day almost immediately began to break. Frederick came prowling back, like some bad animal, looking after the two women who had gone within.

“There went a woman of darkness!” he murmured, “but I can trust her magic and her godless spirit to win back my fortunes.” While he was thinking upon these things the day dawned and two warders blew a blast from the turret where they walked, which announced the wedding morning of the knight and Elsa. A warder in another turret answered with his trumpet, and soon people began to assemble from all the country round. Frederick looked about for some place to conceal himself from the crowd. Seeing some projecting ornamentation upon the porch of the place where he and Ortrud had sat, he slipped behind and waited.

Scene III

Trumpets began to sound back and forth, from all parts of the vast buildings of the palace. Soon the warders descended from their towers and unlocked the gates of the court. The servants of the castle entered, and went about their duties, some drawing water at the well, some passing on into the palace, where they were employed to wait upon knights and ladies. The four royal trumpeters went to the gates, and sounding their trumps to the four corners of the earth, notified the country round that it was time to assemble at the palace. Nobles and inhabitants of the great castle entered and peasants and knights living without the gates came from the road, till a magnificent host were gathered for the occasion of Elsa’s wedding.

When all had assembled, a Herald mounted a high place before the palace.

“Now all listen,” he cried. “By order of the King, Frederick of Telramund is laid under a ban, and whoever shall serve him or take pity upon him shall suffer his fate.” The people cried curses upon the false knight. “Furthermore,” the Herald cried, “I am to announce that the King has given to the brave knight who defended the honour of the Lady Elsa a sceptre and a crown. The knight does not consent to take the title of Duke, but he is willing to be known as the Guardian of Brabant, and as such he will defend his people.” All hailed the knight joyously, and welcomed him as their guardian. “The knight bids me give a message. All of you are to come to the wedding, but as soon as it is over he bids ye take up arms, and to-morrow at dawn, he will go forth with ye to rout the invader who has so long troubled our King.” Again all cried, “Hail!” They were delighted with the valour of their new defender.

“We shall follow where he leads!” all cried, and turned to speak enthusiastically with each other and to promise loyalty among themselves.

In the midst of this rejoicing and good will, four nobles of Frederick collected.

“Ye hear, do ye not, that we are banished?” one said; because they, as supporters of Frederick against the Lady Elsa, were under the ban. “What think ye? Are we too to leave home and country and fight a people who ne’er harmed us, because of this new comer?”

“I feel as bitter as ye,” another said. “Yet who dares affront the King or resist his will?”

“I,” said a cold and bitter voice, and as they turned, they saw Frederick himself, standing by their shoulders.

“Great heaven! If thou art seen, thy life will be in danger!” they cried.

“Do not fear. This very day I shall unmask this upstart knight!” He was about to say more, but some pages ran gaily down the palace steps and the Brabantian nobles pushed Frederick back into his hiding place, in haste. Every one crowded round the pages, who they knew came before Elsa and her ladies.

“Make way there!” the pages cried, forcing a way for the procession. When a wide passage was made, Elsa and all her retinue appeared at the door of the Kemenate.

Scene IV

A magnificent procession of great ladies and nobles, attended by train-bearers and pages, came from the palace and crossed the court to the Minster where Ortrud and Frederick had rested upon the steps the night before and the bridal procession marched to fine music:

While this march was being played, and the procession passing, all the nobles bared their heads. As Elsa was about to pass into the church, everyone cried long life and happiness to her, and the air rang with shouts of rejoicing. But in the very midst of this fine scene, as Elsa stood with her foot upon the church steps, Ortrud rushed forward and confronted her. Her rage and jealousy had got the better of her cunning and judgment.

“Stand back!” she cried. “I will not follow thee like a slave, while thou art thus powerful and happy. I swear that thou shalt humbly bow thy head to me!” Every one stood in amazement and horror, because the sorceress looked very wicked and frightful, almost spitting her anger at the lovely maid.

“How is this, after thy gentleness of last night?” Elsa murmured. “Last night thou wert mild and repentant, why now so bitter?” She looked about her in bewilderment, while the nobles sprang forward and pushed back the raging woman.

All this passed as quick as lightning.

“Ye flout me! Ye who will have for a husband, one whom thou canst not name!” She laughed derisively. That hurt Elsa very much because it was true. Ortrud had remained with her through the night, and had continued to say so many things which had aroused her curiosity and fear, that she was thinking more and more of the fact that she knew nothing whatever of her knight.

“She is a slanderer! Do not heed her!” all cried to Elsa.

“What is his race? Where are his lands? He is an adventurer!” the sorceress continued to shout bitterly, each word sinking deep into Elsa’s heart. But she roused herself and suddenly began to cry out against Ortrud, and to say how good and noble the knight was and how tenderly she loved him.

“When he might have killed your husband yet he spared his life; that was a sign of his great nobleness of heart!” she declared, trying to forget Ortrud’s words and to convince herself.

When the excitement was at its height and Elsa nearly fainting with fright and grief, and her ladies crowding about her, the palace doors again opened, the trumpeters came out, and began to blow their blasts, while the King, Lohengrin, and the Saxon nobles and counts came in a procession from the Palas as Elsa and her women had come from the Kemenate.

Scene V

All hailed Lohengrin as Guardian of Brabant, and Elsa threw herself passionately into his arms. At once he saw that something had happened.

“What is it?” he asked.

“What is all this strife?” the King demanded, looking about upon the scene. Then Lohengrin saw Ortrud.

“Horror! What is this wicked woman doing here beside thee?”

“Shelter me against her wrath!” Elsa pleaded. “I harboured her last night, because she was weeping outside my door, and now she has tried to drive my happiness from me.” Lohengrin looked fixedly at Ortrud and bade her begone.

“She hath filled thy heart with doubts, dear Elsa,” he said, half reproachfully and full of fear, because he saw a change in the maid. She wept, and he drew her into the church, while the King and his train turned toward the church also. Frederick then confronted the King.

“O great King and deluded Princess! Ye have all done me a grievous wrong. I accuse this stranger of undoing me with magic. I confront him here and demand his name and land! If he has naught to fear or to be ashamed of, let him speak.” Everyone was full of hatred for Frederick, but at the same time, the challenge had a kind of justice in it and all were troubled.

“It is not thou who can humble me, base knave,” Lohengrin answered, looking contemptuously at Frederick. “It is not the doubts of evil men that can harm me.”

“Thou, O King, command him to tell his place and name,” Frederick implored.

“Not even the King nor any prince that rules the earth shall question me upon these things,” Lohengrin replied proudly, facing them all, as they turned looks of inquiry toward him. “There is but one who may ask and she has given her word. She will not break it,” he declared, looking tenderly at Elsa, who still waited beside him at the entrance to the church.

“His secret is his own,” the King declared; “so have done with this shameful scene! And thou, dear knight no doubts shall disturb thy happiness.” All the nobles crowded loyally about him as the King ceased speaking; but while they were taking Lohengrin by the hand, Frederick got close to Elsa, who, he and Ortrud could see, was troubled with womanish doubts.

“Let me tell thee something, Elsa of Brabant! If but one drop of thy knight’s blood is shed a finger scratched his power and magic are gone. Give me leave to draw one drop of his blood, and all that he now conceals, he will at once reveal to thee.”

“Ah, do not tempt me!” she cried, afraid to listen, because she had now become curious to learn Lohengrin’s secret.

“I will say no more now, but this very night I shall be within call. And if thou dost only speak the word, I’ll enter and prick his arm with my sword and instantly he will tell all, and can never more leave thy side.” Lohengrin saw Frederick had got the ear of Elsa, and in a terrible voice told him to go, and chided Elsa gently for listening to such a man. As he spoke she sank at his feet, full of self-reproach.

Lohengrin lifted her and embraced her lovingly, while she swore eternal faith in him, and then all turned once more to the church. The King, the nobles, Lohengrin with Elsa all were passing in at last; when Elsa, looking back just once, saw the arm of Ortrud raised in menace and with an expression of triumph upon her wicked face. Elsa turned terrified once more to Lohengrin, and they passed into the church.

ACT III

After the ceremony and the festivities that had followed the marriage, came the peace and quiet of night. The door of the bridal chamber opened, and pages went in bearing lights, while the ladies of the court followed, leading Elsa, and the King and nobles in turn followed them, leading Lohengrin. It was a most beautiful room, with a great open casement at the right, through which the night-breeze swept.

The nobles and ladies sang in chorus the most beautiful of wedding songs:

The King embraced Lohengrin; and the ladies, Elsa. Then the pages gave a signal to go, and all passing before the pair went out in the same order as they came in.

Scene II

After all had gone Lohengrin sat upon the couch beneath the open casement and drew Elsa down beside him. He wished above all things to drive from her mind all thoughts of the suspicion which Ortrud had implanted. But even while he spoke most lovingly and reassuringly to her, her thoughts were upon the mystery of his name. When he spoke her own she looked at him reproachfully.

“Ah! my name sounds so beautiful to me from thy lips if only I might speak thine!” she complained. “If thou wouldst only tell me thy name, it should never pass my lips.” Lohengrin was sad upon hearing this. He spoke of other things of how beautiful the night was, and of how they were to pass a long and happy life together; but still her thoughts, poisoned by Ortrud, returned again and again to the forbidden subject.

“Oh! do not doubt me! Let me share thy secret whatever it may be,” she entreated. “I feel that I am not loved by thee, since I am not trusted with thy story not even with thy name.” At last, after begging her to be silent, after reminding her of her promise, after all the persuasions he could think of, he rose and spoke sternly:

“I have given thee the greatest confidence, by believing thee free from every stain. With no proof but thy word, I fought for thy honour. I asked no word to prove thy innocence. In return, I desired only silence from thee about my name and birth and land. It was partly for thy sake that I asked even so much. Now I will tell thee. But ” He hesitated, begging her once more to let them live in happiness, and not to ruin all by her fatal curiosity. At that moment, Frederick and his false nobles broke through the door with drawn swords. They had come to draw his blood and thus to render him quite powerless.

But Elsa, though quite ready to ruin him herself by her curiosity, would not let him be hurt by another. Lohengrin’s armour was laid off, but the sword was by the couch. Elsa snatched it, thrust it into his hand and with a single blow he killed Frederick. The nobles fell upon their knees before him, while Elsa fainted. Lohengrin looked upon the scene, feeling nothing but despair. If his blood had not been shed, yet to save his life he had been forced to shed the blood of another, and he had thus been rendered helpless, quite the same. After a moment he rang a bell which summoned Elsa’s ladies, and bidding the four nobles rise, he confided Elsa to the care of the women.

“Bear the corpse to the King’s judgment hall,” he said to the men, who then did as they were bid. “For you,” he said to the women, “take your mistress into the presence of the King, and I will answer all that she desires to know. Nothing shall longer be hidden.” He went out with his head bent and his thoughts very sad and melancholy. The day began to dawn, and the lights were all put out, and again the trumpets sounded in the courtyard.

Scene III

All repaired again to the river bank, where Lohengrin had first been seen, drawn by his swan. A count first entered, with his train of vassals. He came upon a horse, and was assisted from it by one of his train. Then he took his shield and spear from his pages who bore them, and then set up his banner, after which the vassals grouped themselves about it.

Trumpets were heard on all sides and counts continued to arrive in the same order as the first, all with their vassals, all setting up their spears and their people grouping themselves about them. Finally, the Herald who announced the coming of the King was heard, whereupon all the banners were unfurled and the trumpets of each noble and his people were sounded, and then entered the King and his Saxon men. As the King reached the royal oak, all struck their spears upon their shields, and cried:

“Hail!” The purpose of the gathering was to go forth against the foe that threatened the Germans, the Hungarian hordes. When all were beginning to wonder where the strange and brave knight was who had them summoned for the hour of dawn, and who was expected to lead them to victory, they saw the body of Frederick brought in by the four false Brabantians. All stood aside in horror. They could not think whose corpse it was.

“They who bear it are Telramund’s vassals,” some cried, and at the same moment Elsa appeared, coming slowly and surrounded by her ladies. The King met her and conducted her to a seat opposite the royal oak.

“Art thou mourning because thou art sorry to lose thy Lord so soon, sweet Lady?” the kind King questioned. She tried to answer him, but her sense of guilt was so great that she could not. The fearful things that were about to happen and that had happened had been caused by her woman’s curiosity, and now that it was too late, she was filled with remorse. Some one cried:

“Make way! make way! the Guardian of Brabant is coming.” All looked and saw the shining knight, Lohengrin. They hailed him joyfully.

“I come not to lead ye to glory,” he answered sadly, and uncovered the corpse of Frederick of Telramund. All shrank back. “Neither shall ye condemn me. I killed him, but he came to seek my life. Your judgment, O King!” he asked of Henry.

The King stretched his hand across the body of Telramund to clasp Lohengrin’s.

“The saints would not shield him: he deserved thy thrust,” Henry answered.

“Once more! The Lady Elsa has betrayed her promise. I am undone. Ye all heard her give her word that she would never ask my name nor country; but her impatient heart hath broken that pledge, and her injurious doubts now compel me to tell ye all.” Everybody groaned and cried out sorrowfully. They had entire faith in the brave knight, and loved the Lady Elsa. All regretted that her curiosity had ruined a fair future, deprived them of their defender, and made her own life forever miserable.

“Now, mark well what I say,” the knight cried, and while he spoke, his face became illuminated with a kind of splendid goodness and faith in his own integrity.

In distant land, by ways remote and hidden,
There stands a burg that men call Monsalvat;
It holds a shrine to the profane forbidden,
More precious, there is naught on earth than that.
And throned in light, it holds a cup immortal,
That whoso sees, from earthly sin is cleansed;
’Twas borne by angels through the heavenly portal,
Its coming hath a holy reign commenced.

Once every year a dove from heaven descendeth,
To strengthen it anew for works of grace;
’Tis called the Grail; the power of Heaven attendeth
The faithful knights who guard that sacred place.
He whom the Grail to be its servant chooses,
Is armed henceforth with high invincible might;
All evil craft its power before him loses,
The spirits of darkness, where he dwells, take flight.

Nor will he lose the awful charm it lendeth,
Although he should be called to distant lands,
When the high cause of virtue he defendeth,
While he’s unknown, its spell he still commands;
By perils dread the holy Grail is girded,
No eye, rash or profane, its light may see;
Its champion knight from doubtings shall be warded,
If known to man he must depart and flee.

Now mark! craft or disguise my soul disdaineth,
The Grail sent me to right yon lady’s fame;
My father, Percival, gloriously reigneth,
His knight am I, and Lohengrin my name!

When Lohengrin had ceased to speak, having told his story, all that Elsa wished to know, everyone spoke softly. They were enchanted by the knight’s purity and goodness, and full of sorrow for the ruin which Elsa had brought about. She herself cried out that all was dark; she could no longer see; she felt that she was dying. As she fell, Lohengrin caught her in his arms.

“Oh, thou wilt not leave me broken-hearted,” she said when she could speak.

“Alas! I must go. Thou hast brought this ruin upon thyself,” he said tenderly. “I was not free to tell thee, but if thou hadst been silent for a year, according to thy promise, two things would have happened to make thee happy. I would then have been freed from the bond and could have spoken and thy lost brother would have been restored to thee.” Hearing this the grief of all was insupportable. “I must return to guard the Holy Grail,” he said sadly. At that moment those nearest the bank cried out that the swan was coming, drawing the boat.

Lohengrin handed his sword and horn and ring to Elsa.

“If thy brother ever returns after I am gone, give him these things in token of me. The horn will bring him help in battle, the sword will conquer every foe, and the ring will remind him of the one who most befriended him and who saved thee from suspicion and dishonour.” He kissed her again and again in farewell, while even the nobles wept; but as he was about to enter the boat the wicked Ortrud entered, accused him of falsehood, declared that she had wound the golden band worn by the swan around its neck, and that the swan was the lost brother, enchanted by her. “If thy knight had remained here, his magic spells would have brought thy brother back in his rightful shape, but now he is lost to thee forever. The knight must go, and I will keep the swan under my spell.”

Lohengrin, who had stood upon the bank listening to all this sank upon his knees in prayer. All looked toward him, waiting in awe to see what would happen next. The white dove of the Holy Grail flew slowly down and hovered over the boat. When Lohengrin saw it his face shone with joy, he rose and loosened the chain from the swan, which immediately sank out of sight. Then from the river, rose a youth in shining silver garments, while Lohengrin stooped down and placed him upon the bank. It was Gottfried, the brother of Elsa, and the heir of Brabant.

“Behold thy ruler!” Lohengrin cried, affectionately looking at Elsa. At the sight of Gottfried, Ortrud shrieked and fell down in a fit, which might have ended in death. Lohengrin jumped into the boat and the dove seized the chain which had hung loose since the swan had gone, and drew it along. Elsa, roused from her stupor of agony, saw her dear brother, and as he and she rushed into each other’s arms, the glorious knight slowly passed from sight, having brought joy to all, even if he had left sadness wrought by a woman’s curiosity.