Chapter XVII: Part IV: The Dusk of the Gods, or Götterdämmerung

[Music: Motif of the World-Ash-Tree]

PRELUDE

Holding in his hand his broken spear, the king of the gods wended his way to Walhalla. He sent forth stanch messengers to hew the World-Ash into a thousand pieces and pile them high about the gods’ palace. Then he assembled round him his heroes and the Walküres and the rest of the divinities, and sat in silence awaiting the Dusk of the Gods.

All the gods, far and wide, knew that the Last Twilight was impending; and fate relentlessly led all things to the end. To the Walküres’ rock came the Norns in the gray of dawn to spin. From hand to hand passed the golden cord. Each told a history in gloomy, chanting measures.

The oldest Norn sang of the days when the World-Ash was green and the Fountain of Wisdom purled softly in the shadow of the wide branches. She sang of Wotan’s coming to the spring and drinking; of the tearing of the limb from the World-Ash; of the withering of the great tree. Her song ceased. She flung the cord to her sister.

The second Norn wound slowly as she sang. Her tale was of the making of the great spear with which Wotan had ruled the world until one stronger than the gods had shivered the haft and overpowered the Ruler. She sang of how Wotan had now ordered that the World-Ash should be broken and piled about Walhalla. She paused, and the youngest Norn took the rope.

She sang of the bright palace where Wotan sat among the gods and heroes, with the great fagots from the World-Ash heaped around him. She sang that, when these fagots should be lighted and Walhalla burned, the Dusk of the Gods would come.

They sang of many strange events—these Norns—events of the past, of the present, of the future. They sang of the circle of fire lit by Logi about the rock. They sang of the Rhinegold stolen by Alberich; they sang long and sadly of the gods and their king.

“The web is tangled,” said the first Norn.

“Alberich’s spell tears at the strands,” said the second, and flung it to the third.

“I cannot reach the rope—it is too short,” said the youngest, putting out her hand.

The cord snapped. It had stretched across the past, but it could not touch the future. It was, indeed, too short.

“It breaks!” wailed the Norns, crouching in dread, as the faint light of day appeared.

“At an end is our wisdom!” they murmured in chorus, and wound the broken bits of the rope about their gray-shrouded bodies; then fled like mist into the earth, down to their mother, Erda, the all-wise one, she who had first prophesied the Dusk of the Gods.

* * * * *

When she had taught him all the wisdom that she knew, and given him all she had, Brünnhilde bade her hero go forth into the world and win fame and honor by great deeds. He must journey to the far lands peopled by brave men and high heroes and prove his courage and his strength. She would wait for him patiently, and he would come back to her when he had made all men know and honor him.

She gave him Grani, her stanch war-horse, and he placed on her finger as a parting love-gift the beautiful bright Ring that he had won at Hate Hole, and then he bade her farewell, and blithely passed down the mountain-side, blowing a clear, merry blast on his horn.

Brünnhilde stood on the Walküres’ rock and gazed yearningly after him, and the young hero went forth into far lands to know men and do great deeds, and find at last that strange place called the world.

[Music: Motif of Brünnhilde]

[Music: Motif of the Gibichungs]

[Music: Motif of Hagen]