Stories from Wagner

Part IV. The Downfall of the Gods . .. ... 70 Tannhauser, the Knight of Song ...... 147

Rienzi, the Last of the Tribunes . . . 204

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Drawings by H. Hendrich and F. Lecke Brunhilde knelt at his feet Frontispiece *'

OPP. PAGE

The Giants borfe Freia away 12*

The two were re-united in a fond embrace 34

Instantly a stream of fire gushed forth 44?

Then in the silence a bird sang to him 60

The three maidens swam close to the shore .... 88

The death of Siegfried 90

The funeral of Siegfried 92

Thus it was that Parsifal began his pilgrimage . . .112

He was compelled to yield 128

He saw a beautiful woman 150

Wolfram looked after her 166

Walter began his song 202 '

At the head of a large body of men rode Rienzi . . .212

Daland looked at the stranger keenly 240

The two stood silent looking at each other 272

I T would be a longer story than all the “Stories from Wagner” put together, to tell where these tales began and how they grew. Centuries before they were set to music in the soul of Richard Wagner, some of them had been chanted around rude camp-fires by savage-looking men clad in the skins of animals. They were repeated by word of mouth long before even the rudest art of writing was learned ; and in various lands they were known, though the stories often differed. For in those days men believed in spirits, good and bad, and in giants, dwarfs, gods and goddesses. They told these stories to their children, just as real history is taught to-day; and later the legends were treasured not only for their deep interest but also because they showed how people lived and thought, long ago “while the world was in the making.”

When Wagner, the great music-dramatist of Germany, was writing his wonderful operas, he found much of this rich material lying ready at his hand. Other parts he adapted to suit his needs. And it is the form in which he used the tales that has been followed in the simple retelling in the present volume: hence the justice of the title — “Stories from Wagner.” Let us pause a moment

ix

X to see who this author was, and how he came to collect his themes.

Richard Wagner’s career extended over the better part of the last century. He was born at' Leipzig, May 22, 1813; he died at Venice, February 13, 1883. His whole life was a struggle, for his musical ideas were unlike any that had gone before. But he lived to witness a splendid triumph; and to-day his operas are produced more often than those of any other composer.

The following is the order in which the operas were first given: —

Rienzi, 1842

The Flying Dutchman, 1843 Tannhauser, 1845 Lohengrin, 1850 Tristan and Isolde, 1865 The Master Singers, 1868 The Ring of the Nibelung, 1876 Parsifal, 1882

When Wagner was just beginning his career, he was in great doubt as to the choice of subjects for his operas. His first famous work, “Rienzi,” was based upon Italian history. The English novelist, Bulwer-Lytton, has written a noted novel, using the same title and groundwork.

The legend of “ The Flying Dutchman,” which Wagner next chose, is one of the best-known seaxi myths in existence. In every country sailors tell of a mysterious ship that is seen in times of danger or distress. The captain of this vessel bears many names, but it is believed that the varying tales are only versions of one original legend. The German poet, Heine, wrote one version, and from this Wagner obtained the first idea for his opera.

With “Tannhauser,” Wagner entered upon the purely German themes which he was thenceforth to find so rich a mine. This story like many others was extremely old, yet it had been treated only rarely. Ludwig Tieck had written some verses upon it, and from these Wagner got his idea. Owen Meredith, the English poet, has also given us a charming version entitled “The Battle of the Bards.” While Tannhauser himself has been seldom written about, Walter von der Vogelweide — the minnesinger, and friend of Tannhauser in the opera — is the subject of many poems, one of the last being by Longfellow. Sir Walter is set down in German history as an actual person, and many things are told about his marvellous gift of song.

Wolfram von Eschenbach — another historic character found in the operas — once wrote a famous old poem entitled “Parzival.” Here Wagner discovered the germ of his beautiful story of “Lohengrin,” following the lines of an old and well-nigh forgotten legend. The opera of “Parsifal,” though not completed till more than thirty years later, was also conceived at this time, and remained a cherished project. Legends of the Holy Grail, with which it deals, are familiar in every Christian country. There is much in the characters of both Parsifal and Lohengrin to remind us of Tennyson’s Sir Galahad, in “Idylls of the King,” which treats of the Holy Grail.

In “Tristan and Isolde” we have another legend which was well known during the Middle Ages. It was known in Wales, Ireland, Brittany and Germany, where it was a frequent theme with minnesingers, or wandering minstrels, like Walter von der Vogelweide. One of the earliest German authors to write down a version of it was a certain Godfried of Strasburg; and Wagner had at his command this and numerous other versions. English poets, also, have been greatly attracted by the tale. Sir Walter Scott, in “Thomas the Rhymer,” told the simplest version. Matthew Arnold, Tennyson, and Swinburne have given notable poems of some length on the subject.

During the Middle Ages, and particularly in the thirteenth century, the city of Nuremberg was the seat of a famous musical guild, or trainingschool for poets and singers. In his “Master Singers,” Wagner has followed history for his scene, characters and traditions, though he has made xiii droll use of them. The Master Singers have left substantial proof that they really lived. There are poems still in existence, signed by Sixtus Beckmesser, Veit Pogner and others; while Hans Sachs has left whole volumes behind, and his memory is so revered that he is looked upon almost as the patron saint of his city. Longfellow says in his poem on “Nuremberg”:

“Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler-poet, laureate of the gentle craft,

Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters, in huge folios sang and laughed!”

Wagner also obtained his idea for the contest of song from one of Hoffmann’s novels entitled “Sangerkrieg.” He made use of the same idea in “Tannhauser.”

Although “The Ring of the Nibelung,” Wagner’s grand lifework, was not presented until 1876, he had been at work upon its four parts for more than twenty-five years previously* He had published the first two parts without their musical score, in 1853. The other operas which appeared in the meanwhile were but breathing-places, so to speak, in the greater labour he had set himself to perform.

Wagner was especially fortunate in his choice of subject. The Nibelungen myth was a great

XIV national epic — one of the oldest of the Teutonic race, dating back to the prehistoric era when Wotan, Fricka, Freia, Thor, Loki, and the other gods and goddesses were worshipped in the German forests. In the course of centuries several versions of the legend appeared, some being found even in Iceland under the name of “Eddas.” In Germany a long epic poem came to be written by some unknown hand. It was called the “Nibelungenlied,” and it is the most famous of all early German poems.

Of course Wagner had access to all this material. Rut he made so many changes from it in writing his own poem as to create a new story — one which, independent of the wonderful music which he wrote to accompany it, gives him place among the foremost writers of his nation. Volumes have been written pointing out the differences between his Nibelung story and the earlier legends.

But the purpose of this book is not to criticise, dissect, or compare. After giving these few needful names and dates, we wish merely to follow the splendid fancy of this singer of songs and teller of tales wherever in the realm of storyland it may chance to lead us.

One further word, however, of frank admission : While the spirit of the original is adhered to, and xv very often the exact words are quoted, it has not been deemed best to follow the argument too closely. Instead, simplicity and directness have been considered preferable to the involved plots and symbolical actions of the operas.

The book is directed primarily to the needs of young people, and is sent out to them in the hope that sometime they may hear the dull booming of the Rhine about the Gold, the magic fire as it sweeps to encircle the sleeping maiden, the forest voices which greet the young and fearless hero, the chorus of the pilgrims, and the song which won the bride for a prize. All these and many other good things are held in store by the future. Meanwhile “the story’s the thing,” and we who will never grow too old to believe in giants, dragons and dwarfs, and the brave heroes who ride over the world doing heroic deeds, can still be thankful that Wagner lived and dreamed his dreams of the past.

J. W. M.

( Der Ring des Nibelungen )

Part I The Rhine-gold

H UNDREDS of years ago in a wonderful time called the dawn of the world there lived many strange beings which do not now exist. Gods and goddesses dwelt in the clouds that hovered about the mountain peaks. Great untamed giants roamed amid the valleys. Swarthy, misshapen dwarfs, called Nibelungs , 1 toiled in the caves of the under-world heaping up treasures of gold and silver which never did any one any good. Ugly dragons crawled about on the earth; while beautiful water-nymphs lived in the rivers and seas. Lastly there were heroes and savage men who struggled together for the mastery in that far-off day when the world was in the making.

How the end came to all these strange things, and how the reign of the gods finally ceased, will be set down in this fourfold story I am about to tell you.

i Pronounced Nee'bel-oongs.

In the clear depths of the river Rhine, in Germany, once dwelt three water-nymphs — lovely maidens who were very like other maidens, except that they passed their whole lives under the water and could not be seen by ordinary eyes. F air were they in face, and graceful in form. Their eyes beamed gladness, for they had never known sorrow; while their long golden hair floated about them like a garment, or tossed upon the wave-crest as they played some merry game of hide-and-seek amid the grottoes of their watery world. They were called the Rhine-Daughters, and thus in frolicsome play did they spend their days — free from all care save one. It was this care and the sorrow following close upon it that caused the present story to be told.

Upon one of the highest rocks, deep down in the bed of the Rhine, was stored a great lump of pure gold, brighter and more dazzling than any other treasure ever known. It was also more wonderful than any other gold, because it contained the power of making its owner master of all the world. This treasure had lain undisturbed in the river’s bed for so long that it had come to be known as the Rhine-Gold. It was watched over by the Rhine- Daughters, in whose care their father had left it. This was their sole duty — to keep guard night and day lest some thief should come and steal the priceless treasure.

One bright morning the maidens seemed unusually merry. They darted in and out the caverns with a speed which left the flying-fish far behind. They laughed and chattered and sang, but glancing from time to time up at the precious Rhine- Gold, to see if it still glittered upon its protecting crag.

Presently their happy noise at play attracted a passer-by, who clambered upon one of the jutting rocks to see what it was all about. The new-comer stood in the greatest contrast to the three laughing girls. He was a dwarf, little and ugly and crooked, with a humped back and long, claw-like fingers to match the eager, grasping look in his small eyes. ITe was Alberich, of the race of the Nibelungs — the earth-dwarfs who dug for treasure in the underground caverns, and hammered and toiled without ceasing for the gold that never did them any good.

“Ho, ho!” he exclaimed to the maidens. “A fair morning to you!”

The nymphs started in alarm at the harsh, croaking voice. Nor did their first sight of the visitor reassure them. But they replied, civilly enough,

“A fair morning to you, sir!”

Then one of them darted swiftly upward, singing as she went:

“Guard well the Gold;

*Twas just such a foe Our father foretold/*

Nevertheless Alberich had paid no attention to the Gold, so pleased was he by the nymphs and their gambols. And they in turn, losing their fear of the uncouth monster, and willing to tease him, asked him to catch them in their game of hide-andseek. This he tried to do; but blinded by the unusual light, and stumbling awkwardly over the rocks, he could never keep up with their fairy-like antics. First one and then another would come near him or ascend the rocks, but it was always just beyond his reach. Finally their laughter and teasing made him angry, and he stopped short, refusing to be made sport of any longer.

J ust then a ray of sunlight filtered down through the water and struck the Rhine-Gold. Instantly it glowed as though it were a mass of flame, reflecting a hundred shafts of light where one had smitten it. The whole river-bed was illuminated by the glorious rays.

The astonished dwarf looked toward the source of this splendour, and what he saw made his small eyes fairly bulge out with greed. Yet he concealed his amazement and waited to learn something about this splendid treasure without betraying his own interest. Fortune favoured him. His unspoken question was answered by the Rhine-maidens who surged upward with a glad cry of “The Rhine-Gold! The Rhine-Gold!”

“What is this Rhine-Gold you are talking about?” asked the dwarf with a great show of indifference.

“What ! Haven’t you ever heard of the wonderful Rhine-Gold?” asked one of the maidens thoughtlessly. “We supposed it was famed over all the world.”

“But I dwell in the under-world and hear not the things which are spoken among men. Tell me of it, I pray.”

Then the maiden forgot her father’s warning to guard the treasure closely. She also felt nothing but contempt for this awkward little man from whom they could so easily escape. She told the secret of the Gold in the words of a song:

“The realm of the world To him shall it bring Who out of this Gold Shall fashion a Ring Of magical power untold.”

“Hum! Say you so?” said the dwarf, keeping his excitement down by a powerful effort, though his finger-nails fairly clawed into the flesh. “If your metal is as fine as all that, why doesn’t some one lay hands upon it and do all these great things?”

“Sister, sister! be careful!” said another of the nymphs.

But the first only laughed and replied, “What can this silly old fellow do? Let us have some more fun teasing him!”

Then the third maiden floated gracefully near. “Why doesn’t some one seize the Gold?” she repeated. “ ’Tis because no one has yet been able to pay the price.”

“What is the price?”

“This is it,” she answered. “Listen:

“ ‘He who forswears the might of love.

And all its pleasures manifold,

He only has the magic art

To mould the Ring from out the Gold/ ”

“Pish! a pretty story you are telling me!” said the dwarf. “As though a little matter like doing without love should make a person master of the world!”

He made a great show of scorn while he said these words, but all the time he was edging quietly nearer the treasure.

“But love is the greatest thing in the world!” said the first maiden. “No one can do anything without its wonderful aid. Why, even you — poor old fellow — would not dare forswear it.”

“I would not dare forswear it — eh?” exclaimed the dwarf with a snap of his fingers and a wild laugh of triumph. “Love, forsooth! What is love to me, when gold is in question? Hark you, Rhine-maidens ! I renounce love for ever! Be my witness!”

And he sprang rapidly forward, before the nymphs could prevent him, clambered up the j agged rock and seized the coveted treasure.

“Our Rhine-Gold! Our Rhine-Gold!” shrieked the maidens. But it was too late: already he had disappeared in one of the clefts of rock leading to his cavernous home, and though they darted after him they could not find him in the dark depths. Only his mocking laugh came back to them.

“Ho, ho! Love! When all the world shall be mine!”

Now we have already seen that the nymphs and the dwarfs formed only a part of the strange world, so long ago. At the very time when Alberich was stealing the Gold and preparing to make the Ring of Power down under the earth, there was an unusual happening in the home of the gods far up on the mountains.

For a long time Wotan, the greatest of the gods, had desired a palace large enough to contain his kingly court. But he could find no one strong enough to build it, until on a day two giants from the valleys below came into his presence. Large were they of shoulder and thigh, many times larger than ordinary men.

“We have come to build your palace,” they said.

“Who are ye?” asked Wotan, looking piercingly at them with his single eye.

“I am Fafner, the frost-giant,” answered one. “I can rend all these rocks asunder and build your palace in a single night, with the aid of my brother Fasolt, here.”

Wotan was overjoyed to find some one who would undertake his cherished plan.

“What payment do you desire for this service?” he asked.

“You must give me the hand of your beautiful sister, Freia,” answered Fafner.

Wotan frowned. He desired the palace above all things, just then, for it would enforce his visible rule over the world. But Freia was his favourite sister. Moreover, it was she who was the goddess of youth and beauty and who tended the tree of golden apples which kept the gods always young.

While Wotan was frowning and pondering to himself, his brother Loki whispered in his ear,

“Let them build the palace. We shall find another way out of the bargain.”

Now Loki, god of fire, was the craftiest of all the gods. So when Wotan heard his whispered advice his brow cleared, and he looked at the giants.

“So be it!” he commanded. “ Build me the castle ’gainst another sunrise. It shall be Walhalla — the supreme home of gods and men.”

The giants bowed and went their way. Presently the sound of mighty blows was heard, and terrific crashes as of the bursting asunder of rocks. All that day and night the tumult continued, while the earth shook to its very foundations.

The next morning the rising sun lit up a splendid spectacle. There stood Walhalla, magnificent home of the gods, upon the crest of a towering cliff. Its white walls gleamed and glistened. Its towers and buttresses were built of stones so large that they seemed placed for all eternity; yet the whole mass appeared as light and graceful as a fairy vision.

“Beautiful! Wonderful!” cried the gods and goddesses in rapture.

“Let us take up our abode in our new home!” said Wotan, with the delight of a schoolboy.

But just then the two giants appeared clad in their shaggy skins of slain animals.

“Hold!” said Fafner. “First give us in payment the goddess Freia as you promised us.”

“That I cannot do,” replied Wotan. “You must think of some other way for me to reward you.”

“Not so,” exclaimed the giants angrily, their hoarse voices making all the mountain quiver. “Give us the maiden, as you agreed, else we shall tear down the palace quicker than we built it.”

And they placed themselves on each side of the trembling Freia.

“Touch her not!” cried two gods, as they sprang forth to protect their sister. “Do you not know,” continued one, “that I am Thor, god of thunder, and that with one blow of my hammer I can crush you both?”

And he raised his hammer threateningly. But now the great Wotan interposed in his turn.

“Restrain your fury!” he commanded, stretching forth the dread Spear of Authority between the giants and the gods. “By this Spear the word of Wotan cannot be broken; and unless Fasolt and Fafner agree to accept other reward, they must e’en take our sister with them to the regions of frost.”

At this command the contending ones fell back, but there arose a low cry of fear from the lovely Freia and a deep lamentation from the other gods. For how could they live without their sweet sister, she who gave them the apples of eternal youth?

Meanwhile Wotan had been casting his eyes impatiently from side to side. He was looking for his crafty counsellor, Loki, and wondering why he did not appear with his aid; since he it was who had promised to find a way out of the bargain.

“Come, decide!” said the giants, again stepping forward.

“ Only one hour more,” pleaded Wotan. “I must confer with my counsellor who is just now absent.”

“Only one hour, then,” replied the giants.

“Send out messengers in search of Loki, god of fire,” commanded Wotan. “Let him be summoned instantly.”

But at this moment who should appear but Loki himself, walking in unconcernedly and looking about in feigned surprise as though he were the last person any one would wish to see.

“Good-morrow, all!” he said airily. “That is a beautiful castle I see upon yon mountain height. I have just been examining it from every side, and upon my word it would defy even my arts to destroy it!”

“Yes, yes,” replied Wotan, impatiently, beginning to be a little ashamed of his fine Walhalla. “But that is not the point, just now. These giants demand our sister Freia as their reward; and you remember you promised to find a substitute for her.”

The sly Loki arched his eyebrows in mock surprise.

“A substitute for her!” he exclaimed. “Why, how could that be possible? I should think that Fasolt and Fafner would rather have her than all the treasures in the world. Is she not the goddess of youth and beauty?”

At this the two gods Thor and Fro raised their weapons in great anger, and would have fallen upon Loki, had not Wotan restrained them. He knew the cunning of the latter, and was persuaded that Loki had found a plan.

“Yes,” proceeded Loki as calmly as though there had been no interruption, “all the riches in the world would not take the place of Freia. Even the far-famed Rhine-Gold would hardly answer. And, speaking of the Rhine-Gold, do you know that I have just heard a strange story.

“While passing along the banks of the Rhine, I became aware of the sound of pitiful weeping and wailing. I turned me about to see whence the doleful sound came, and I beheld the three Rhine- Daughters. They were no longer joyous and carefree as was their wont, but they were beating their breasts and tearing their hair while they cried, ‘Our Rhine-Gold! Our Rhine-Gold! Stolen! Stolen !’ ”

“What! Have they suffered the Rhine-Gold to be stolen?” asked Wotan in alarm.

“ ’Tis as they said; for I stopped and questioned

The giants bore Freia away them. They said that the dwarf Alberich had seized upon the treasure and fled away to his earthcaverns, where he was even now making the magic Ring of Power. He has set himself up as King of the Nibelungs, and he purposes to rule the whole world.”

The giants Fafner and Fasolt leaned eagerly forward and drank in every word of Loki’s story — as indeed he had intended they should.

“Ah! that would be a prize worth having!” they exclaimed, rubbing their huge hands. “Mighty Wotan, if thou wilt wrest this treasure from the Nibelung and give it to us, we will release the goddess.”

But Wotan again grew disturbed and silent. He knew that the Gold rightfully belonged to the Rhine-Daughters, and that it would prove a danger even to the gods themselves, unless it were returned. The giants saw their advantage and followed it up.

“Decide for yourselves,” they said, laying bold hands upon Freia. “Our work is done and we claim the reward. Either this maiden or the Rhine-Gold. And until you decide, she must follow us to the frost-land.”

And unmindful of her cries of distress the giants bore Freia away, across the cliffs and down the mountain-side, the gods standing powerless to prevent.

As they stood gazing in dismay a thin mist arose from the valleys, and it seemed to touch all the gods with blight, as it were a frost. For the goddess of youth and beauty was gone, and old age had already begun to lay hand upon those that remained.

“Come, this will never do!” exclaimed Loki in jeering tones. “Will you stand in your tracks and let old age blight you?”

And then he began to taunt each of the gods separately, as was his wont.

“Look!” cried Fricka, wife of Wotan, “the golden apples even now are withering. Wotan, husband, behold thy doom! See how thy compact hath wrought ruin and wreck for us all!”

Wotan started up, fired by a sudden resolution.

“Up, Loki!” he commanded. “Follow me. We must fare to the caverns of night and seize upon this Gold.”

“And then ?” asked Loki. “The Rhine-

Daughters implored thine aid. Wilt thou restore it to them?”

“ ’Tis idle talk,” retorted Wotan moodily. “Freia the goddess of youth and beauty must be ransomed, else we shall all perish.”

“Then let us hence,” said Loki, who had gained the point at which he had aimed from the outset. “Let us hence. I know a cleft in the rock, which serves as a chimney for the Nibelung’s forge fires.

Perchance he is even now hammering out the Ring of Power. Come, let us descend into his cavernous dwelling.”

So saying the god of fire wrapped his mantle about him and set forth, closely followed by Wotan with his dread Spear of Authority.

As two simple wayfarers they travelled down the rocky chasm — down, down, down, and still down, while the hammering from the forges grew louder and the sulphurous smoke came curling up more and more thickly, till it would have suffocated any one but a god.

At last they emerged into a huge cave, around which hurried hundreds of queer little people, each as ugly and crooked and dirty as Alberich. They were blowing the fires, pounding away upon huge masses of metal, or scurrying about with arm-loads of gold, silver, and precious stones.

Just then the two wayfarers heard a quarrelling in a side passage of the cave, when in came Alberich himself dragging another dwarf shrieking, by the ear. It was Mime, his own brother, but that made no difference with Alberich.

“Where’s the helmet, you rogue?” he said. “It shall not be well with your skin if you don’t give it up.”

“Mercy, mercy!” howled Mime, the tears making little furrows down his dirty face. “ I haven’t got it done yet.”

“Yes, you have! What is that you are trying to hide in your hands? Give it to me, I say !”

And Alberich seized the object which Mime had just dropped in terror.

“Ah! just as I thought!” continued the stronger brother. “Here is the magic helmet all complete; and this sly knave thought to keep it for himself. But I shall pay him for his treachery!

“Hark you, rascals!” he continued, turning to all the other dwarfs. “I am your king. Ye must henceforth serve me alone, and pile up all your treasure in the royal vaults. I have this day obtained the powers of magic which make you my servants. At this moment you see me not; but I shall make myself felt among you, I promise you!”

And with this speech he clapped the helmet upon his head and instantly vanished. But in his stead there came a pillar of mist, and out of the mist came his voice sternly commanding them to obey. Then the sharp lashes of a whip were heard right and left; and Mime fell groaning to the ground while the others retreated in terror, seemingly driven along a narrow way on the far side of the cavern. Alberich was beginning his reign with a vengeance !

Meanwhile the two celestial visitors had stood unnoticed in a side passage. While they debated as to the best means of making their presence known, Alberich came back in his true shape, carrying the helmet in his hand, fondling the Ring upon his finger and chuckling with glee. Then he espied the two gods, and his brow wrinkled darkly.

“Why come you to my caverns ?” he demanded. “Know you not that I am king here, and that strangers are not welcome?”