of noble aspect. It is the wise goddess Erda, who comes to warn Wotan, and urge him solemnly to renounce the ring. She utters an ominous-sounding prophesy concerning the end of all things that is approaching, the sad 'twilight, of the gods,' a doom in store for them, and which Wotan will fatally hasten if he continues to cling to the gold. Moved by her dark words, he yields it up to the giants. The working of Alberich's curse is seen at once. No sooner have Fasolt and Fafner got the ring in their hands than they fight fiercely for its possession. Fasolt falls, and the victor makes off with his booty.

Erda vanished away as soon as her prophesy was spoken, but her words have sunk deep into Wotan's heart, and sown there the seeds of care and anxious curiosity about the future, which are to be his bane henceforth and for evermore. The present, however, is an hour of triumph for the gods. Youth and bloom have returned to them with Freia, and they cross over by a rainbow bridge into the palace of Walhalla, rejoicing greatly at the liberation of their goddess of Love and Spring.

II

IN 'Die Walküre,' the first opera of the Trilogy, we seem to come a step nearer earth. A step, and no more. There is so much that is strange,and mystic,and supernatural in this legend, that, though we are forbidden to regard the personages as allegorical, they must at least be viewed as mythological and transcending the conditions of life as we know it.

Wotan and Fricka are the only two characters from Rheingold that reappear in this opera. Since our last meeting with him, Wotan, possessed by a dire craving to pry farther into the mysteries of destiny darkly hinted at by Erda, has, in his pursuit of wisdom, led

something of a wanderer's life. For long he roamed the earth in mortal disguise, coming in, as gods are wont to do, for sundry adventures, martial and amorous. The nine Walküren (choosers of the slain), introduced into the drama, are the daughters of Wotan and Erda. They are Wotan's warmaids, charged to preside over the lot of battles, and conduct the souls of the fallen heroes into the Scandinavian heaven. Wotan hopes to fortify Walhalla against threatened destruction thus by peopling it with brave spirits.

The Walküre denominated in the title, and who may be regarded in the main as the heroine of the Trilogy, is Brunnhilde. She is the favourite of her father, and an Amazon of the Amazons indeed.

But the chief interest of this opera centres in two other children of Wotan-a son and daughter, born of an earthly mother-Siegmund and Sieglinde. They are only known to each other by name, having been torn apart in early childhood, when the enemy came, sacked their dwelling, slew their mother, and carried off Sieglinde. From that time Siegmund has led a wild life, at first with his father, the Wälsung, as Wotan called himself during his sojourn here below. But since the mysterious disappearance one day of this being, Siegmund has fought his own way-a kind of Esau, his hand against every man, and every man's hand against him. A fatality of ill haunts him in all his undertakings. His valour is vain and frustrate, and those whom he protects perish. Sieglinde meanwhile is even more unfortunate. She has been married against her will to Hunding, a wretch of whom probably the less said the better, as very little is vouchsafed, and in whose dwelling the first act of ‘Die Walküre' is laid. The scene represents an empty hall, in the midst

of which rises a large ash tree, its stem piercing through the roof. Siegmund, coming from a contest in which he has fought till all his weapons were hacked to pieces, rushes in seeking at haphazard a shelter from the storm. The helpless and exhausted warrior little dreams that he has stumbled on the house of Hunding, a hater of him and his race, still less that his wife is the lost Sieglinde.

Sieglinde enters and receives the wanderer hospitably. To her questions and cheering words the visitor replies with sad dark phrases, indicating the evil destiny that hangs over him, and refuses to give his name. The deepest melancholy runs through the scene- -Sieglinde's lot, married without love to the detestable Hunding, is also a heavy one, and Siegmund has found his way to a joyless hearth. Hunding, when presently he returns home, gives the stranger a somewhat ungracious welcome. From words that Siegmund lets fall whilst they are at supper, he gathers that his nameless guest is an enemy to whom he owes a heavy score for the blood of kith and kin slain in battle. Finally, Hunding challenges Siegmund to single combat on the morrow. then the laws of hospitality protect him. Hunding then retires into the inner room with his wife. Sieglinde, as she goes, casts a strange significant look at Siegmund, with a gesture drawing his attention to the stem of the ash tree. Siegmund is left alone in the dark.

Till

He now recalls a promise, made to him long ago by his father, that, when in the hour of sorest need, he should find a sword that should do him good service. Suddenly the fire on the hearth breaks into a blaze, the light shines full upon the ash tree, and there a sword he sees buried up to the hilt in the wood.

Sieglinde steals in. She has given Hunding a sleeping potion,

and comes to the aid of the unarmed warrior. She urges him to try and draw out the sword from the tree, and tells him the tale that hangs thereby. It was at Hunding's

wedding feast, he and his were drinking and making merry, but Sieglinde sat apart, sad and inconsolable, when an uninvited guest joined the circle, an old man in long grey robes, with a slouched hat that hid his face. A nameless dread fell upon all in the presence of the wanderer. He struck his sword into the ash tree-it sank in up to the hilt; he challenged those warriors to draw it out-all failed in the attempt. Since that day there lies the sword, and Sieglinde lives hoping for the hour when one shall come and draw it forth, for that man is to be her deliverer, and to snatch her from her present enforced and hated slavery.

Siegmund proclaims himself the expected champion, and Wälsung's son. Mutual recognition follows. Siegmund sees in that sword the promised weapon, draws it triumphantly from the tree, and with the utmost exultation these children of Wotan swear everlasting devotion to each other.

This opening scene, in the main a duet act for Siegmund and Sieglinde, is full of passages of extreme beauty. Those who complain of the want of melody in Wagner's music will welcome the exception (proving the rule) in Siegmund's song 'Winterstürme wichen dem Wonnemond.' Its effect is enhanced, as Wagner very well knows how, by its introduction as a kind of climax, after an infinity of fragmentary music, of which the listener must be content with seizing lovely snatches here and there, nor can hope to carry away anything definite or complete.

In the second act the scene changes and takes us into the mountains. Wotan is here, in battle array, and before him Brunnhilde, also in full armour.

The

Walküre breaks upon us with such a wild phrase of music in her lips as, we will venture to say, no opera heroine has ever had to lead off with before. She is only half a woman as yet, however, and we may take the rare and strange intervals as characteristic of a maid of war. She receives instructions from Wotan to direct the coming fight between Hunding and Siegmund, and to ensure the victory to the latter. Hunding must perish, and, as for his soul, Wotan declines it for Walhalla, as useless rubbish. Such is his will. But Fricka comes on the scene, and insists that Wotan shall alter his judgment and assign the conquest to Hunding. Sieglinde is his wife, though won unjustly and by force, and Fricka, as Wotan's lawful consort, maintains that the triumph of Siegmund will be a personal insult and injury to herself, the protectress of Hymen, and a fatal example for generations to

come.

Wotan, by dint of her im portunate instances, is forced to yield, consents to withdraw his protection from Siegmund, and reverses most reluctantly his orders to Brunnhilde, putting himself thereby, for a god, in a most undignified position. And we must say, in passing, that a more despicable divinity than Wotan is made to appear in these pages it has never been our fortune to meet. Whether this be intentional on the poet's part we have no idea. But the more we see of this weak and wavering being, carried away by every wind of desire, making promises and resolutions in all sincerity, to break them the next moment, always bewailing himself, victim of the most ungodly vices, without the slightest sense of humour to reconcile us to his misbehaviour, and dreadfully henpecked into the bargain-to say nothing of his commonplace style of conversation, the

platitudes, the unmanly lamentations and helpless protests in which he is always indulging-the more we feel that the twilight of such gods may come and welcome, the sooner the better.

Brunnhilde is now left alone, and Siegmund and Sieglinde come on together. Moved with compassion for the pair, the Walküre resolves to fly in the face of Wotan's orders, and to secure the victory for Siegmund. She shields him accordingly in the battle between him and Hunding that ensues. But her audacity fails in its object. Wotan himself interferes, shattering with his spear the sword of Siegmund, who, thus defenceless, is slain by his antagonist. Sieglinde is carried off by Brunnhilde, who has engaged to protect her, and Wotan and Hunding are left face to face. Fricka's will is so far accomplished, but at a gesture of the god's Hunding falls dead to the ground, and Wotan starts off on a wild chase in pursuit of Brunnhilde, whose impious disobedience calls for tremendous summary vengeance.

The third act takes us to the camp of the Amazons, who are disporting themselves among the rocks and mountain forests, chanting wildly to each other, and moving in and out among the firs and crags. 'Impossible' seems to be a word unknown in the Bayreuth dictionary, and certainly that stage arrangement will command admiration which shall prove itself equal to the smooth working of this scene-Walküren, slain warriors, horses, and so forth.

Brunnhilde comes to them flying from the pursuit of Wotan, bearing the unfortunate Sieglinde, and imploring their protection for herself and her charge. The Walküren, aghast at their sister's rash violation of the god's commands, refuse aid. Sieglinde's safety, however, will be best assured by flight

alone. Far in the east there lies a spot shunned by Wotan, and where she will be safe from his wrath-a forest where the giant Fafner sits, and in a cave guarding the treasures won from the Niebelungen. Brunnhilde points out the way, and sends off Sieglinde there to seek refuge, prophesying that a child shall one day be born to her who shall become the greatest of heroes-Siegfried will be his name, and for him she bids her treasure up the fragments of Siegmund's sword.

Wotan now arrives with his usual storm and tempest accompaniments. In vain the Walküren try to shield Brunnhilde. She has to come forward, and Wotan pronounces her doom. Banished from Walhalla, Wotan's war-maid no longer, forbidden the god's presence for ever, she is now to be locked in a magic slumber, and there to lie helpless, the prey to the first comer-the wife of whomsoever shall wake her. Brunnhilde asks and obtains as a boon that a circle of fire shall surround her as she sleeps, so that no coward at least shall approach her, but that if she be won it may be by a hero who knows not fear. At Wotan's kiss, she sinks into an enchanted slumber; he lays her on the ground under a fir tree, traces a circle with his spear, whereupon the flames blaze up all round her, and there she is left, to await the coming of the dauntless being who alone will dare to rouse the sleeping Amazon.

We purposely refrain, as we have said, from making criticisms on the music, as they must more or less be premature. But before leaving ‘Die Walküre' it may be worth while to note the general contrast here offered to Rheingold.' The music of the latter is especially pictorial, serving chiefly, that is, to illustrate nature and things visible-such as, first, the flowing river, the fair

VOL. XIV.-NO. LXXIX. NEW SERIES.

smooth sirens; next, the state and pomp of Walhalla; afterwards the dark and unlovely subterranean world, the Niebelungen, their anvils and hammers, and finally the clearing of the heavens, the rainbow bridge, and return of sunshine to the gods.

In 'Die Walküre' we have chiefly a music of the passions. The sorrow and hope, the joy, love, and despair of Siegmund and Sieglinde, Hunding's jealousy, the grief and regret of Wotan, and the reckless mirth of the Walküren, give their colour in turn to the varying themes. And so much may be said, that the music of 'Die Walküre' is that part of the Trilogy which will give least occasion to the composer's enemies to blaspheme. With regard to the legend, in a world where men fall dead before the glance of Wotan, where magic spears, magic flowers, magic steeds, and so forth, are the order of the day, the characters may certainly be regarded as removed beyond the range of human laws. But we submit that they are also to a great extent removed beyond the range of human sympathy.

III

WE come now to 'Siegfried,' the second part of the Trilogy. The single new character here introduced is Siegfried himself. We have, besides, Wotan, this time in disguise as the Wanderer,' the dwarfs Alberich and Mime, the giant Fafner, and the goddess Erda, all of whose acquaintance we made in Rheingold,' and finally Brunnhilde.

Siegfried's mother, Sieglinde, died on giving him birth, committing him to the care of the dwarf Mime. The child has been reared by the latter, who, on the rising of the curtain, is discovered hammering away at his anvil. Mime has found his ward an enfant terrible indeed. Impossible to fabricate weapons strong enough for him, Siegfried

D

shatters them to pieces like toys. But the fragments of Siegmund's sword lie there still, and could Mime once succeed in putting them together, Siegfried would have a weapon fit for his hand, but the smith is unequal to the task.

Mime and Siegfried mutually hate each other, and no wonder. The dwarf, in all he has done for the child, has been instigated by evil, selfish motives. He hopes to make a tool of Siegfried, and to profit by the boy's valour to get possession himself of the golden hoard and magic ring now held, as will be remembered, by Fafner, who is watching over them in a wood hard by.

The moment Siegfried rushes in we seem to recognize in this wild son of the woods the promised fearless hero, the right mate for a Walküre. After a lengthy scene between him and Mime, in which the unruly pupil tries to frighten the whole truth as to his personal history out of his guardian by bringing in a bear which he has caught and bridled for the occasion, Siegfried rushes off into the woods again, leaving the most imperious orders behind him that the sword he requires shall be made ready for him ere his return.

Mime these dwarfs are the most inharmonious of blacksmiths imaginable, by the way-resumes his fruitless labours and chromatic plaints. He is disturbed by the entrance of the Wanderer, and it is not long before he suspects the visitor's real identity. Wotan inWotan informs him that if Siegfried (as Mime intends) is to slay Fafner, it must be with Siegmund's sword, but that the weapon can only be reforged by one to whom fear is unknown. He prophecies also that by the same dauntless hand Mime himself will fall, and with this warning he scornfully bids him beware, and departs.

Mime's one anxiety now is to make sure that Siegfried shall be

come acquainted with fear. When the young hero returns, the dwarf questions him closely as to whether he has ever felt anything of the kind, but it is evident that hitherto he has not. Now Siegfried is longing to go forth alone into the world to seek his fortune. The crafty Mime, therefore, assures him that Sieglinde left a dying injunction that her son was not to be allowed to go his own way, his own master, until he had experienced fear. Siegfried becomes desirous to learn it at once. Mime remarks that the sight of the terrible Fafner would teach it him without fail, and suggests that they shall go forthwith to the giant's cave. But Siegfried first demands his sword, and taking the fragments sets to work on them himself. To Mime's astonishment, the amateur blacksmith succeeds where the artist failed. But while Siegfried is exulting in his achievement his enemy is plotting his overthrow. Mime secretly proposes, as soon as Fafner is slain, to throw Siegfried into a deep sleep by a drugged draught, to kill the helpless hero with his own sword, and then to seize the gold, the ring, and, with it, the mastery of all things.

The second act carries us into the deep forest near to the mouth of the cave, within which sleeps Fafner guarding his gold, helmet, and ring. It is night, and Alberich is prowling around on the look-out for any chance that may present itself of recovering the treasures long ago wrested from him by Wotan.

The Wanderer himself passes, is recognised by his enemy, and the pair exchange a few such amenities as might be expected. Wotan tauntingly bids Alberich renounce all hope of recovering the ring, and warns him that the hero is at hand who is next to win it. He then disappears, but Alberich slips into a cleft in the rock, and waits the upshot. The dawn begins to break,