Backat Aliaferia, Manrico was held prisoner. All was gloom and darkness again, with the prison tower where Manrico was confined looming near, its bars seeming very sinister, the evening more forbidding by contrast with that first moonlight night, when he had sung to Leonora in the gardens.
Leonora, protected by Ruiz, the faithful servant, stole from the shadows, while Ruiz tried to reconnoitre and spy out where Manrico was hidden. The Countess was worn with fear and trouble. While they stood there, outside the prison, the "Miserere" was dolorously chanted. The sound was ominous.
"They chant prayers for the dead!" she whispered, and then the bell tolled.
"It is the bell for the dead," she whispered again, fainting with despair. "What voices of horror. My God! death is very near;" and she stood listening. Then, mingling with the death chant, the troubadour's glorious voice floated out upon the night.
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It was the doomed Manrico singing, from his prison, while waiting, wearily, for the dawn.
It was a fearful hour: The death song! The bell for the dead, the lonely troubadour's voice, and prayer for the dead, sounding through the night.
As Leonora listened, her anguish became too great to bear, and she resolved to save his life or die. Then di Luna came, accompanied by his men; he was giving hurried orders:
"The moment the day dawns, bring out the man, and here, on this spot, cut off his head," he commanded. The attendants entered the prison tower, and di Luna, believing himself to be alone, began to sing passionately of Leonora. He thought her dead in the ruins of Castellar, which his soldiers had demolished. While cursing his fate, Leonora came near to him and threw herself at his feet.
"Thou art not dead!" he cried.
"Nay—but I shall die unless you give me Manrico's life," she murmured pleadingly.
"He dies at dawn," di Luna answered.
"Spare him and I will wed thee," she swore. At that di Luna regarded her in amazement.
"You speak the truth?" he demanded, scarcely daring to believe his senses.
"Unbar those gates; let me into his dungeon and take him word that he is free, and I swear to be thy wife," she repeated.
"Hola! You there!" He called to his men. "Show this woman to Manrico's dungeon," he commanded, trembling with joy. Unseen by him, she took a deadly poison from her ring. She would free Manrico with her promise, and before di Luna could reach her she resolved to die. The men stood ready, and she went into the prison with them.
In the gloomy tower a lamp swung from the ceiling by a chain, casting a dim uncertain light upon Azucena, whom Manrico had saved from the flames, but who had been imprisoned with him, and was presently to be killed also. She was lying on a low bed with Manrico beside her, and in her half-waking dream anticipated the scorching of the flame, which was soon to be lighted about her. She cried out pitifully.
"Art thou waking, mother?"
"This fearful dungeon, my son! It is a living tomb. But they shall not torture me: I am already dying. I shall be dead before they come to drag me to the stake."
Manrico tried to soothe her to sleep, saying that he would guard her; and gradually the poor wretch slept. As she did so, Leonora slipped into the room, through the door unbarred for her at di Luna's order.
"Leonora! I am dreaming," Manrico muttered.
"Nay, it is I. I have come to save thee. Do not waste a moment. Go!"
"Without thee—never! What have you done? How have you purchased my freedom?" he demanded, shrewdly. "It was by promising to be di Luna's wife," he cried. "Before that can be, I will kill thee and myself." He covered his face with his hands. He was in despair, and Leonora did not at first tell him that she was already dying.
"Go while there is time," she pleaded, feeling the poison in her veins.
Manrico saw her stagger and grow faint. "We shall not part," he whispered, as she fell at his feet! "We shall not part." He lifted her up, but she was already dying.
"Fly before di Luna discovers that I have cheated him," but Manrico still held the dying Leonora to his breast, and at that moment the Count entered.
"I have cheated him," she murmured. "I am dying." Hearing this the Count made an outcry and his guards rushed in.
"Away with him!" he shouted, pointing to Manrico; and Manrico was torn from Leonora, as she sank back dead. He was bound and hustled out, while Azucena was awakened by the confused sounds. She sat up and called desperately:
"Manrico!" Finding him gone and seeing di Luna, "Where hast thou taken him?" she screamed, tearing her gray hair.
"See—" and di Luna dragged her to the barred window. "See! The knife falls—look upon the sight, oldfiend." She saw Manrico's head struck from his shoulders as the day dawned. With a frightful shriek she cried:
"Mother, I am avenged! Fiend! he was thy brother!" Di Luna looked first at the dying gipsy, then at the horrid scene below, and staggered back, unable to speak his brother's name. His peace was destroyed forever.
Priests, priestesses, ministers, captains, soldiers, officials, Ethiopian slaves, prisoners, Egyptian populace, etc., etc.
The time of the story is when the Pharaohs were puissant, and the scenes are laid in the cities of Thebes and Memphis.
Composer: Giuseppe Verdi.Author: A. Ghislanzoni.
The opera was first sung at Cairo, Egypt, December 27, 1871; at Milan, February 8, 1872.
AllEgypt was troubled with wars and rumours of wars, and in Memphis the court of the King was anxiously awaiting the decision of the Goddess Isis, as to who should lead the Egyptian army against Egypt's enemies. The great hall of the Memphis palace was beautifully ornamented with statues and flowers, and from its colonnadesof white marble one could see the pyramids and the palaces of the city. It was in this vast and beautiful hall that Radames, a gallant soldier and favourite of the Egyptian court, met Ramphis, the High Priest, on the day when the Oracle, Isis, was to choose the general of the army.
Isis had already spoken, and Ramphis knew it, but he did not tell Radames. Together they spoke of Radames's loyal wish to serve his people, either as a great general or as a soldier. He was too modest to think that Isis would choose him, out of all the worthy men of the army, to lead the hosts of Egypt. His desire to do valorous deeds was inspired by his love for a slave girl, who attended the Princess Amneris. The slave's name was Aïda. The only thing that saddened him at the moment, was the fact of Aïda being an Ethiopian, for it was the Ethiopians whom the Egyptians were about to war against.
After he had spoken with the Priests, Radames sat down alone, in the hall, and fell to thinking of Aïda. Presently he sang of her loveliness:
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Aïda could not be happy in an alien land, serving the daughter of the King who had been the conqueror of her people, and Radames knew this; but what he didn't know was that the Princess, herself, loved him, and therefore that her jealousy might do Aïda much harm. While he was thus sunk in deep reflection, Amneris, the Princess, entered the hall, attended by her slave. Radames no sooner looked at Aïda than his love could be seen by any one present. He was so sincere and honest that he could not conceal his feelings.
"Ah, Radames, you are very happy to-day! Something has happened to please you! Are you not going to tell me?" Amneris asked, smiling happily at him.
"Nay, Princess," he answered. "I am not more happy than before, only I am thinking of this war that is about to be, and how I should love to do some valiant deed—for us all," he added as an after-thought, but Amneris surprised the look of tenderness that he gave to Aïda. From that moment she watched the lovers closely.
"To-day the Goddess is to decide who shall lead the Egyptians against the Ethiops; I would it were to be I," he sighed. Amneris flushed with anger, as she againsaw a look of devotion pass between the slave-girl and Radames, the darling of the court. Still, she pretended to be unsuspicious.
"Is there nothing to attract you in Memphis, that you wish to be off to the war?" she asked, narrowly observing him. Radames, so sensitive and so much in love, saw that he had betrayed his love for Aïda. All three became ill at ease, but the Princess called the slave girl to her, pretending great affection for her, and said:
"Why do you weep, Aïda? Neither you nor Radames seem to be happy to-day."
"Ah, Princess, I weep because of this war rumour. I have known the sadness and terror of war, and the thought of assembled war-hosts gives me pain. It means ruin and despair to so many."
"That is the only the reason for your tears?" she persisted, trying to hide her anger, but her glances belied the softness of her tone. Radames, noting this, trembled for Aïda. Even the life of the girl was in the hands of the Princess, and Radames knew it.
"Ah, my love, you are weeping for something besides a nation, and your blush betrays you," Amneris answered, gently enough, but in her heart she determined to punish the helpless girl. As the scene became more and more painful, trumpets, which always preceded the King's coming, were heard near at hand, and in he came, surrounded by guards, ministers, priests, and officers; a brilliant company, making a brilliant picture.
"Greeting!" he cried, "it is a mighty cause which brings us here together. A messenger has this moment arrived among us with news of great import. I need the support of all the gallant men of my kingdom. Now, messenger, come before us, if thou wilt, and tell thy news,"the King cried in a fine and haughty manner, motioning the messenger before him.
"I came to tell thee, Sire, that Egypt is invaded by Ethiop's King, and all her border lands are laid waste. Our crops are destroyed, great havoc hath been wrought, and unless thou shouldst send an army to resist the invading hosts, we are lost."
"Ah, the presumptuous bandit!" the King cried, thus regarding his brother ruler, and it is probable that the King of Ethiopia did not feel more temperately toward the King of the Egyptians.
"By whom are the Ethiopians led?" the King asked.
"By one Amonasro—a warrior who hath never been conquered."
"What? the Ethiopian King, himself," all cried, because that was news with a vengeance. Amonasro was known to be an invincible warrior, and, if he was going to take the field in person, Egypt had indeed something to fear. At the name, Aïda started.
"Amonasro!" she began to cry, but checked herself. Amonasro was her beloved father! Since she was already a slave, her life would be in danger if it were known that the Ethiopian King was her father. She leaned, almost fainting, against the Princess's throne, and in the excitement her agitation passed unnoticed. The messenger continued to speak:
"All Thebes has risen and sallied forth to check this foe."
"Death and battle, be our cry!" the King shouted; and all his nobles took up the war-cry: "Death and battle, death and battle!"
"War, war, war! fierce and unrelenting," cried Radames, loudest of all, his war spirit and love of country botharoused. At his cry all became still, and the King looked at him with great affection.
"Egyptians, warriors, hear! the chief to lead our hosts against this bold invader has this day been named by the Goddess Isis." Every one leaned breathlessly forward. Many a brave fellow hoped the choice had fallen upon him. None listened more eagerly than the Princess and Aïda.
"There is the choice!" the King continued, pointing to Radames. A moment of silence followed, then Radames shouted:
"Ah! ye Gods! I thank thee! My dearest wish is mine." All the court and soldiers burst into shouts of joy and confidence.
"Now to the Temple of Vulcan, Chieftain, and there equip yourself and men for victory," the King cried, and all prepared to follow Radames.
"Take the war-standard from my hand, Radames," Amneris said, smiling at him with affection: but Aïda murmured unheard:
"Whom shall I weep for, my lover or my father?" Her heart was breaking, for the defeat of either her father or her lover would be a disaster to one so tender as she.
"Battle, battle," all cried excitedly, all certain of victory at the hands of their beloved leader, Radames. "May laurels crown thy brow!" they shouted, following him to the temple, where they were to don their armour, feel if their swords were sharp, and pray for success.
"Aye, may laurels crown thee," Aïda murmured. "I cannot wish thee ruin, yet what a wicked wish, since victory must mean my father's loss. If Radames shall conquer, I may see my father brought here in chains."The unhappy girl prayed in turn for her father and Radames.
When the men entered the Temple of Vulcan, a mysterious light came into the temple from above and long rows of columns could be seen, placed one behind the other, while statues stood between. The long rows of columns were lost in the dim distance. In the middle of the temple was placed a high altar, and all the scene was wrapped in the haze of incense which arose from golden bowls. The High Priestess sang a song of mystic beauty in which the High Priest and others joined, and then the Priestesses danced to an exquisite measure.
While this beautiful thing was happening, Radames entered, all unarmed, and went to the altar. There the gallant chief offered prayers for strength and victory.
A fine silver veil was placed upon his head, to show that he was favoured of the Gods and chosen by them.
The weapons, those of the Temple, given him were tempered by an immortal hand and were to bring him success forever in all battles.
While he knelt there before the God of War, all the sacred men and women of Vulcan's Temple joined in praise and in prayers for his safe return. The chorus swelled higher and higher, till at last in one mighty volume of glorious sound their invocations were completed, and Radames departed for war.
Thereturn of the Egyptian troops was hourly expected; all Thebes was preparing to receive them with honoursand rejoicing; and great fêtes were arranged for their amusement. Amneris was in her apartment, surrounded by her attendants. Slave-girls waved feather fans, others were hanging beautiful jewels upon her and anointing her with rare perfumes, all being done to prepare her for the celebration of Radames's return. The air was full of incense which rose from beautiful metal bowls placed on tripods about her chamber, and she, herself, was waiting impatiently for news that Radames and his men were in sight of Thebes.
The Egyptian King had decided to reward Radames for his victories by giving him his daughter for a wife, but all the while Amneris was disturbed and devoured by jealousy for she believed that Radames and Aïda loved, though she could not be certain. She had thought and thought of this, till she could not rest longer without some proof, and after her slaves had danced awhile for her amusement, to make the time waiting for the fêtes pass more quickly, the Princess dismissed all but Aïda. Then she said to her:
"Ah, Aïda, my heart goes out to thee in this affliction—because thy people have been beaten in this fearful war, and so many taken captive." Her voice was very soft and affectionate, and she sighed, seeming to be deeply moved. "But I mean to make thee as happy as I may, and——"
"Princess, far from my home, my father's fate uncertain, what happiness is there in this world for me?"
"Time will bring thee comfort, Aïda; thou shalt be as my sister; and then this return of our brave men—alas! that the bravest of them all may not return to us." She seemed about to weep, and Aïda looked at her anxiously.
"The bravest?" she faltered; "that can mean but one"; and she became pale with fear and apprehension.
"Aye—our brave Radames! He fell in battle; have you not heard?" While the Princess was speaking, Aïda clasped her hands wildly and cried out. Thus, she betrayed instantly all her love for Radames, and Amneris was no longer in doubt.
"So, you love him?" she cried. "That was what I wished to know. Now let me tell thee that he lives and is returning with honours—but not for thee. If you love him, so do I. What chance has one like you—a slave—beside a princess like me? I feel nothing but hate now for you, and from this moment you shall know all the humility of a slave. Since you have dared to love Radames, I shall be revenged."
"Not upon him, madame. I care not what my fate is, if he be happy. Surely you can spare a sad and despairing heart? I am poor and far from friends and country. My father is ruined, since he too was a soldier, and may even now be a captive. Can you wish me greater ill than this, Princess?"
"I wish thee every ill. Come, now, while I exhibit thee before Radames and all the court as my slave and servant. You shall see me triumph."
"I have no hope," Aïda answered, bowing her head, "but I have not harmed thee." The sound of a trumpet was heard, and outside the people shouted:
"The troops! They come! They are here!"
Down an avenue lined with palms and with the Temple of Ammon to be seen near by, the people went. Therewas a stately throne with a purple and gold canopy, and a vast, triumphal arch under which the returning heroes were to come. The trumpets sounded louder and nearer and the music became martial and triumphant.
First came the King of Egypt and his High Priest and standard-bearers and fan-bearers; then followed Amneris with Aïda and her other slaves. The King sat upon his throne and the Princess beside him, while all assembled were vibrating with excitement and pleasure.
Presently all burst into a loud song of celebration and rejoicing, and then the troops began to enter in procession. Trumpets sounded and one rank after another defiled before the King. There came more, more, more, covered with the glory of victory; all glittering in their armour and helmets, and their swords glancing. Then came the dancing girls laden with jewels and golden ornaments, and the fine spoils of war, brought by the soldiers. Then came the war-chariots, and banners borne aloft, and images of gods, and last and greatest came Radames.
The King descended from his throne to embrace him, the soldiers and people shouted his triumphs, and Radames knelt before Amneris to receive the crown of victory from her hands.
"Ask anything thou wilt and I will give it thee," she cried joyfully.
"First, Princess, order the captives of war brought before thee," Radames asked.
"The prisoners!" she called, and the Ethiopians entered surrounded by the guard, and among them marched a splendid figure dressed in an officer's uniform. Now this man's rank was quite unknown to Radames or to any one, but he was really the King of Ethiopia, himself, and Aïda's father. She gave a cry upon seeing him, butAmonasro looked at her with a commanding, if agonized, glance, and spoke quickly:
"Yes, I am thy father," he answered cleverly, "and have fought and sought death in vain. My garment," pointing to his officer's dress, "tells that I fought for my King. The King is dead," he said impressively, looking at Aïda with meaning; "I would that I were dead, too, my child. But thou, great King of Egypt," he continued, turning to him, "hast conquered, and so I pray you spare the lives of my soldiers. Thou canst generously do so much for us." At this, Aïda understanding that she must not let it be known that the King himself was a prisoner, added her entreaties to Amonasro's.
"Nay, ye must face the fortune of war. Death is thy portion," the King answered. Then Aïda's grief became pitiful, and Radames, who was watching her lovingly, was sorrowful on her account. While all others clamoured for the death of the Ethiopians, Radames stepped forth and asked the King to hear him.
"My King, thou hast said that I should have whatever I would ask of thee."
"True! Ask!"
"Then give these captives their freedom. Their country is conquered. Oh, King! Do not take their lives," and he looked quickly at Aïda, to inspire her with hope.
The King thought upon this for a moment, and was inclined to grant the plea, but Ramphis and the other priests clamoured for their death.
"At least keep this girl's father as a surety," they persisted.
"It shall be so," the King answered. "Aïda's father shall remain our prisoner; and since I cannot grant your request, Radames, yet love thee so for thy valour, I givethee instead the greatest prize within man's gift; my daughter, Amneris."
Alas! The King could not well have done worse had he tried. If his gift was most distracting to the lovers, Amneris was overwhelmed with delight, ready to weep with joy and pride.
"You shall reign with her," the King added, but Radames could not speak, so overcome was he with his misfortune. All assumed his silence to mean an overmastering joy at the honour bestowed upon him.
Aïda, nearly fainting with pain to see her father a captive, and her lover given to another who was her enemy, stared motionless before her, but Amonasro had observed everything, had seen Radames's glances at Aïda, the distraction of the lovers, and suddenly, under his breath to Aïda, he said:
"Have courage. I will give thee thy revenge, daughter. Together we shall conquer." Radames roused himself and knelt before the Princess.
Theeve before her marriage it was proper for Amneris to go to the Temple of Isis to pray. She went accompanied by Ramphis, the High Priest, who promised to remain near till morning, that she might feel safe, and not be lonely. She knew well that Radames's heart was then Aïda's, and her prayers were to be appeals for his love. The Temple was built upon a high rock, surrounded by beautiful palms, and the moon, which shone brightly upon it, silvered all the landscape. As Amneris entered the Temple, the chorus of priests and priestesses swelled forth and added to the weirdness of the scene.
Amneris had no sooner disappeared within than Aïda approached the place. It was the last night of Radames's freedom, and he and she had arranged to meet near the Temple to speak together, perhaps for the last time of their lives. As she entered the grove she looked sadly about her.
"My griefs and misfortunes are now greater than I can bear," she murmured. "After to-night, all will be over. It is better to drown myself in the Nile than to live alone, without father, mother, country, or friends." Thinking of her lost country, she leaned against the rock and half forgot why she had come. She recalled the warmth and beauty of her childhood's home, and then by contrast her term of slavery in Egypt. While she waited, thinking of these sad things, she saw a man's form coming toward her, through the night; it was not Radames. As he drew nearer she recognized her father, Amonasro.
"Father, what brings thee here?" she whispered.
"A grave cause, my child. Naught escapes my eye. I know thy heart. I know that Radames loves thee and that thou art here to meet him;—also that thou art in the grasp of this Princess, who hates thee."
"Alas, there is no hope," she cried, despairingly.
"That shall be as you may decide, daughter. Our people are waiting for a signal to strike a blow at these Egyptians. Our backbone is not yet broken. All that is needful for our success is to know by what road our enemies will march in their next sortie upon us. That is for thee to find out for us. Radames alone knows—and Radames loves thee," he finished significantly.
"But since he loves me, how can I betray him, father?" she asked.
"Choose—between thy father and the man who is tomarry Amneris.—Or—" with a new thought he hesitated a moment—"or why should Radames not leave these cold people for a fairer place and kinder? Why should he not become one of us?" Aïda stared at her father in amazement.
"Betray his people?"
"Why not? Since he loves thee, shall not thy people become his people, even as thou wouldst have made his people thine, hadst thou been wedding him. Choose between us, child."
Amonasro looked at her menacingly. "Unless thou doest this, it means the destruction of thy people and of me; and, too, thou must live and die the hated bond-maiden of this cruel woman Radames is about to marry."
"Radames is coming," she whispered in affright. "What shall I do?"
"Thy duty to me and to thy people and to thyself. Make Radames join us. I shall wait near thee." So saying, he stepped within the shadow of the trees as Radames approached.
"Art thou there, Aïda?" Radames called softly.
"Alas, why should I meet thee," she sobbed, "since thou wilt marry Amneris to-morrow?"
"Aïda, I have come to tell thee there is hope," Radames whispered, trembling with happiness. "The Ethiopians have again risen against us. I am immediately to go forth to battle. I shall crush them this time, and on my return the King will once more be generous to me, and I shall demand then, that for my reward he free me from Amneris and give me thee for my wife. When I have twice saved his kingdom, he cannot refuse me."
"But do you not see that though the King shouldfavour us, yet Amneris's rage would be beyond all bounds?"
"I would defend thee."
"Thou couldst not. She is nearly as powerful as the King. If you slight her we are lost."
"Alas, then, what can I do?"
"But one thing can save us—all of us—my father, you, I."
"Name it," he cried.
"You would not listen to me," she sobbed, wringing her hands in despair.
"I will do whatever you desire," he cried recklessly.
"Then make my people thy people. Fly with us. Even now the Ethiopians are without the gates ready for battle. Join them, lead them, and——"
"A traitor to my country!" he cried, stricken with horror at the thought.
"Then there is no hope. The Princess will drive us to death and despair." She drew a picture that brought it all vividly into Radames's mind. At last with breaking heart he cried:
"I will go with thee—making thy people my people," and he started to leave the Temple with her.
"What path shall we take to avoid the Egyptian soldiers?" she questioned wildly.
"We may go by the same path that the army will take: the gorges of Napata: the way will be free till to-morrow." That was how Aïda discovered the way the Egyptians would take, while her father listened.
"Ah! I will post my men there," Amonasro cried, stepping forth into the moonlight, that Radames might see him.
"Who has heard?" Radames said, with a start.
"Amonasro, Aïda's father, King of Ethiopia," he answered, proudly facing Radames.
"Thou—thou art the King—Amonasro—Aïda thy daughter! Do I dream? I have betrayed my people to thee!" He suddenly realized all that he had done, in wavering between love and duty.
"No, thy people are the people of Aïda. The throne is thine, to share with her."
"My name will be forever branded—a coward!" He groaned in despair.
"No blame to thee, son. It was thy fate; and with us thou wilt be far from these scenes that try thy heart: far away where none can reproach thee." But Radames knew that he had better die than live, knowing himself for a traitor. He determined that he would not go; that he would remain and undo the wrong that he had blindly done, but even then Aïda was trying to drag him away, and urging him with each loving breath to fly with them. As he would have broken away from her, Amneris, who had heard all, ran from the Temple, crying, "Traitor!"
"Destruction! She would undo us," Amonasro shouted, and as the people began to pour from the Temple, he sprang forward and would have plunged his sword through her had Radames not sprung between them.
"Thou art a madman," he shouted, horrified at the deed Amonasro would have done. Meantime all was confusion. People shouted for the guard, and Radames cried to Aïda:
"Fly with thy father. Fly or thou art lost." His voice was so full of agony for her that she suddenly turned and fled.
"Follow them," Ramphis demanded of the soldiers, while Radames said hopelessly:
"Ramphis, I yield to thee."
Therewas no joy in the court, and Amneris sat in the vast hall of the palace between Radames's prison, on the one hand, and the hall of justice on the other, where the trial of the gallant soldier was soon to be held. He was in prison, and Aïda and her father were far away. Amneris still loved him, and hoped yet to save him, and thus to win his love. Presently she called to the guard to bring him before her, and almost at once he was brought through the hall accompanied by the priests who were to try him in the underground dungeon.
"Radames, the priests who are to judge thee are assembled. Consent to clear thyself. Say that thou didst not mean to betray us and I, myself, will kneel to the King, and promise you your freedom. I would give my life and power and country for thee," Amneris pleaded, as he passed before her.
"I would give no less for Aïda," Radames declared sadly. "I shall not try to save myself. I shall say nothing in my own defense. I wish to die."
At the mention of Aïda, Amneris was enraged.
"I'll hear no more of her!" she cried.
"Ah, you have killed her——"
"No! Her father is slain, but she lives. She has vanished—no one knows where!"
"Then may the gods guide her safe to her home and country, and keep her from knowing how I die."
"If you will swear to see her no more, Radames, I will save thee."
"If I were to live I should find her. I will not swear."
"Then you shall die. If you will not hear me, I shall avenge myself," she answered bitterly, motioning to the guards to take him away.
Radames was taken below to the subterranean hall which was to be his grave and judgment hall alike, while Amneris was left alone, both grief-stricken and revengeful. Her jealousy was certain to bring fearful retribution upon her. As more white-robed priests passed below, looking spectral and ominous, she hid her face in her hands.
"It was I who brought him to this fate," she murmured, and then listened in anguish to the chorus of the priests which sounded dismally from below.
Then a voice called from the crypt, three times:
"Radames, Radames, Radames," and it was his summons to judgment.
"Oh, who can save him now?" Amneris murmured, horrified at what was taking place.
"Defend thyself!" she heard voices from below command. There was no answer.
"Radames, Radames, Radames," the High Priest called again in a fearful voice, and again the Princess shuddered.
"Thou hast deserted the encampment the very day before the combat!—defend thyself." She listened, but still no answer.
"Radames, Radames, Radames," again the High Priest called, and for the third and last time. Still no answer.
"Oh, have mercy on him," Amneris then cried, her love becoming greater than her desire for revenge. Then listening again, she heard the judge say:
"Radames, thy fate is decided. It is to be the fate ofa traitor. You shall be buried alive beneath the altar of the God of War, whom thou hast derided and betrayed."
"Oh, horror," Amneris shrieked.
"We have spoken," the priests replied, and then ascended.
"Ye priests of Isis, ye are tigers! demons!" and the Princess assailed them bitterly as they came into the hall. She was now mad with grief. Truly loving Radames, she cursed the priests and even the gods. Then the scene changed, revealing the interior of Vulcan's Temple and the crypt beneath the altar. There were spectral statues, and great marble columns which seemed to vanish in the gloom, and all was gloomy as the grave. Stairs led from the temple above into the vault, and Radames sat down upon the steps as the priests let down again the massive stone that covered the opening beneath the altar. Radames watched the closing of the opening, the descent of the great stone into place.
"I can bear my fate, since Aïda may never know. She could not survive such horror," he said, under his breath. The vault, the ghostly cold about him, the rows upon rows of senseless marble, supported by the expressionless stone faces of the gods, these things overwhelmed the great warrior. Then, from the gloom, he saw a white figure emerge. Is it a phantom? At first he thought it some fearful vision. But as he peered through the twilight he recognized—Aïda. Perhaps it was her ghost come to comfort him, he thought, and raised himself to stare at the figure.
"Aïda!"
"I am here to die with thee," she answered, and Radames clasped her in his arms. He had thought her safe, unacquainted with his fate, but she was there to share it.
"My heart foreboded thy fearful sentence," she said. "I hid here till the stone shut down upon thee, and now I am beside thee till the end."
Radames beat wildly upon the stone above. He called for help. He tried with his great strength to raise the deadly stone with his shoulders, only to sink down, exhausted and horrified. He could not save her. The chorus sung by priests began above; Aïda was already dying. At least she would not live slowly to starve. And while Amneris appeared above in black garments, dying of grief for Radames, and threw herself upon the stone, Radames held the dying Aïda in his arms and waited for death.
"Peace," Amneris moaned while lying prostrate above on the altar stone.
"Peace," and while the women were dying and Radames losing his senses below, the priests of Isis chanted, "Peace," the light faded out, and the tragedy ended.
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 Æschylus; 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 rollfortissimoupon 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.
This was the culmination of my absurdities. What I did, above all things wrong, was a rollfortissimoupon 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 getsome 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 becameHofkapellmeister(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 alreadydone more than he can! Listen to me, and give up dramatic composition!" But he continued to "do more than he could."
When he wrote "Tannhäuser" 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."
AsKapellmeisterof 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 Bülow 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 wasgiven 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 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 Freïa. Appears in the "Rheingold" and in the "Valkyrie."
Freïa: 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 Wälse. Hunding's wife, and then Siegmund's wife. Siegfried is her son. Appears in the "Valkyrie."
Brünnhilde: 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 Brünnhilde. 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 Freïa, and Fricka. Appears in the "Rheingold."
Donner: God of Thunder, brother to Fricka, Freïa, 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 (Wälse). Husband of Brünnhilde 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 Brünnhilde; 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."
Deepdown in the jagged bed of the river Rhein there lay hidden a great treasure of gold, which for ages hadbelonged 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 ourfather 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 inthe 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.
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 Freïa 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 Freïa 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 dayfor 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 Freïa, the giants after her, to demand the reward." At that moment, Freïa, 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," Freïa 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 Freïa." They struck the earth with their staves and roared loudly.
"Donner! Froh!" Freïa 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," Freïa 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, rumblinglaugh 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 Freïa, 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 hadbeen 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 Freïa?" 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 Freïa?" he asked Wotan.
All the Gods fell to talking among themselves. Freïa 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 Freïa 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 Freïa," 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 Freïa, grasped her and fled over mountain and valley, while the Goddess Fricka cried out wildly, and Freïa 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 Freïa's magic apples; the Apples of Life. Without them ye must grow old and die, ye well know. Without Freïa 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 Freïa. 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.
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 hewrenched 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!"