the hole. Cast on the helmet which yonder Loki is bearing."
Wotan could scarce restrain his rage at this rude bartering of his sister, while the impetuous Thor fingered his mighty hammer nervously. But Wotan saw it was useless to refuse. He made a sign of command to the unwilling Loki, and the latter cast the helmet on the heap.
Fafner again walked around it looking closely on every side.
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "Here is just one more little crack. But through it I can see the gleam of the goddess's lovely eyes. You must place the Ring here to make the ransom complete."
"Never!" cried Wotan furiously.
"Very well, then. We shall be forced to take the goddess with us."
And once more Fasolt laid his rude hands upon the shrinking maiden.
Thereupon a great tumult began. The voices of the gods rose in entreaty to Wotan to give up the Ring and save their sister and themselves. Thor sprang forward with uplifted hammer, while the hoarse voices of the giants bade defiance to them all. Again the dread mist crept up from the valleys, and darkness descended from the clouds. Still Wotan remained defiant. He was turning away in anger from the tumult, when out of a cleft in the rock a weird bluish light broke forth, and there emerged a woman of dignified and noble mien. Her long black hair swept upon the ground, and her flowing robe seemed made of all the leaves and growing things of the soil. She was Erda, the spirit of Mother-Earth, gifted with wisdom and foresight such as was not given even to the gods themselves.
Erda stretched her hand out warningly toward Wotan.
"Yield, O Wotan!" she cried. "Escape the curse of the Ring, and all the hopeless woe it entails!"
"Who art thou, boding spirit?" demanded Wotan. And in a chanting voice came back the reply:
"All that was I know,
All that is I know,
All that ever shall be done,
This as well I know.
Erda the name I bear,
The Fates my daughters are,
Danger threatens dire,
This has drawn me near;
Hearken! hearken! hearken!
All that is shall end.
Heed ye well, ere dawn of doom,—
Beware the cursed Ring!"
As the chant ended, the bluish light died away and with it vanished the warning figure.
"O stay, dread spirit!" cried Wotan. "More would I learn!"
But only silence answered him; and after gazing into the darkness in anxious thought, he turned suddenly and approached the giants.
"Here is the Ring," said he sternly, drawing it from his finger and placing it upon the heap. "Begone, and leave us our sister! But a curse has fallen upon the Gold."
And so it proved. The gods themselves were witness of the first-fruits of the curse. For as the two giants fell greedily to work gathering up the treasure, a dispute arose. Fasolt claimed that Fafner was taking more than his rightful share. They came to blows over it, when Fafner smote Fasolt to the ground with a blow so heavy that it killed him. Then the victor, unmindful of his deed, hastily gathered up all the wealth and departed, while the gods stood around silent and amazed that the curse should descend so swiftly. And Wotan foresaw in this tragic moment the awful doom which was one day to descend upon them all, because the Gold had not been restored to the Rhine-Daughters.
But his gloomy thoughts were broken just then by a mighty crash, like a peal of thunder. There upon the cliff leading to the beautiful new palace which had cost so much, stood Thor wielding his hammer upon the encircling clouds. Flashes of lightning burst forth. The clouds and mist rolled away, revealing Walhalla in all its splendour; while from their feet, in dazzling radiance, gleamed a rainbow-bridge leading across the chasm to its portals.
"Come! let us go over to our new home!" said Wotan, taking his wife Fricka by the hand.
And followed by the laughing gods and goddesses, who surrounded Freia, fairest of the group, they went across the rainbow-bridge and entered the stately halls of Walhalla.
The setting sun shone brightly on the scene. The clouds had melted away into blue sky, leaving a soft radiance which seemed to encircle their new home in a halo of delight. The evening fragrance of the valleys came up to them redolent with the springtime of growing things. As they trod the shining pathway the jests and merriment of the gods showed their gladness in this new home that had been made for them at so great a cost.
Still Wotan was not happy. He had decided seemingly for the best; but as he crossed the arching bridge he heard voices from the valley far beneath him, rising like the tones of conscience or the warnings of fate. It was the mournful song of the Rhine-Daughters:
"Rhine-Gold! purest Gold!
How fair thy gleam,
Thy wealth untold!
But now thy rays
Light not the stream;
Ah! give them back—
Give back the gleam,
Rhine-Gold!"
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