After a long silence, Wotan, defeated, asks, “What do you want?” “Do not protect the Volsung,” is the reply. He agrees, but she continues her demands. The Valkyrie must not protect Siegmund either. Wotan protests that he cannot forsake the man who found his sword, but Fricka insists Wotan withdraw its magic. The sword must shatter, and Siegmund be rendered helpless. Just then, Brünnhilde comes back, beginning her war cry but stopping short as she sees Fricka. Fricka imperiously demands Wotan’s oath that the Valkyrie will aid Hunding in the fight, and he helplessly gives it. Fricka tells Brünnhilde to heed her new orders, and exits in triumph.
Comment: In this scene we are back in the moral confrontation world of Das Rheingold. Most people see Fricka as an archetypal nagging wife, which is not really a fair description. Certainly Wotan is not the all-time catch of a husband. His pomposity alone would make him insufferable. Indeed, a close look at Fricka’s words reveals that his lust for power disturbs her even more than his philandering. One cannot help wondering how much of this scene was culled from Wagner’s domestic life with Minna. In any case, the symbolically minded view Fricka as an embodiment of Wotan’s conscience, which is plausible.
The libretto specifically dictates that Fricka make her entrance in this scene in a chariot drawn by rams. Even Wagner himself dispensed with this outrageous effect when he produced the Ring at Bayreuth. This scene is Fricka’s last appearance in the Ring. Thus, however she makes her entrance (and few productions bother to rent a dainty pair of rams from the local zoo), bet on Fricka’s exit to be very, very grand.
Brünnhilde is aghast at Fricka’s words, and asks Wotan to explain. How wretched he is, he exclaims, the saddest of all creatures! How he would love to unburden himself to her, but wouldn’t he then be loosening his grip on his own will, in some sense, if he were to do so? No, she assures him, since she herself is the very embodiment of his will. He agrees that talking to Brünnhilde is much like conversing with himself, although he must still keep his thoughts secret from all others. He begins a long account of events as he has come to understand them.
When the first joys of love had passed, he thirsted for power, and won the world. He bound potential enemies with treaties and contracts, urged on by tricky Loge, who has since fled from him. Then Alberich cursed love and won the Rhinegold with all its power. He himself stole the Ring from Alberich and paid for Valhalla with it instead of returning it to the Rhine. Wise Erda advised him to get rid of the Ring or risk hastening the end of the gods, but she refused to tell him more. He followed her into the earth and literally raped her for more information, learning much. As a result of this encounter, Erda bore Brünnhilde, Wotan’s “other self,” and her eight Valkyrie sisters. They brought him the spirits of the bravest slain heroes from the battlefield to defend Valhalla from its many foes. Alberich still wanders, fueled only by vengeance and rage. If he should ever regain the Ring, he would muster all creation against the gods. Fafner now sleeps crouching on the Ring, but Wotan cannot take it from him since he gave it to him in good faith. Thus he who rules by treaties is a slave to them.
There is only one hope now for Wotan and all the gods—a hero who, of his own free will and without any help from the gods, against whom he would even fight, must do what the gods cannot do (i.e., secure the Ring). That is why he reared Siegmund and gave him the sword, but Fricka revealed the utter hollowness of that plan. Alberich’s curse follows him. Now he must betray Siegmund, his heart’s beloved. Bitterly, he cries out that all is in vain, and let the vain pomp of the gods pass away! There is only one thing he longs for now—the End! And Alberich is working relentlessly toward that End. Erda had told him that the time of the gods’ passing would be near when the Dark One fathered a son, and Wotan has lately heard that Alberich had bought a woman’s love with gold, and she now bears that child of hate. Let this child seek the prize he wants—he himself can fight no more. Brünnhilde must fight for Fricka’s cause.
Brünnhilde declares that she will never fight against Wotan’s beloved son. But instead of being comforted by her loyalty, he turns on her wrathfully. “Obey my command: Siegmund falls! This is the Valkyrie’s task!” He leaves in fury.
Comment: For a long time it has been fashionable to roll one’s eyes at the mention of Wotan and his monologues, of which this is by far the longest. “We know all this,” the jaded say. “We saw it on stage last night.” Not true. Only a very small fraction of this monologue covers territory already seen on stage, and even then it is placed in a new context. The arrangement of musical themes, and the permutations in which they are presented here, as if subtly but significantly transformed by the magic and delusions of Wotan’s memory, are of primary importance to the development of the story.
Much of the blame for the failure of this scene to ingratiate itself to the public must lie with the singers, many of whom have failed to grasp Wagner’s intent here. Fortunately, some possess the artistry and intellect to reveal the power of this scene, because the power certainly is there. The narration begins quietly and shadily, one might say, growing as Wotan’s thoughts emerge out of a dark pool of anxiety. His thoughts follow one upon the other, building to the conclusion that there is no answer but oblivion. It is one great arc, and the performer must be able to communicate all the subtle gradations along its sweep. If there is any part of the Ring that warrants studying up close, as by repeated listenings to a recording with libretto in hand, this is it. Or you could just fall asleep with the rest of the jaded.
Brünnhilde, alone, is hurt and deeply puzzled by Wotan’s fury. She has never seen him like this. She withdraws into a cave.
Siegmund and Sieglinde appear, running in their mad flight. Sieglinde, though exhausted, insists on pressing on, but Siegmund assures her that she can rest a while. She tells him to leave her—she will only bring disaster and shame on the friend who saved her. Horns announce that Hunding and his kinsmen are approaching, and she imagines the hunting dogs tearing at Siegmund’s flesh. Hysterical, she seizes her brother, finally collapsing in exhaustion. He tenderly lays her down and guards over her in silence.
Brünnhilde emerges from her cave and regards Siegmund. After a long and poignant while, she calls his name and bids him look at her. Only those slated for heroic death on the battlefield see her face. Now she greets him whom she chooses for her own. Where am I going? he asks. To Valhalla, to join the fallen heroes in Wotan’s hall. Will Wälse be there? Yes, she answers, he will. Are there women in Valhalla? Yes, she replies, beautiful handmaidens to grant his every wish. Will Sieglinde join me there? No, Brünnhilde answers, you will not see her there. With perfect calm, Siegmund caresses the sleeping Sieglinde and tells Brünnhilde to send his greetings to Valhalla, to Wotan, to Wälse, to the heroes and the maidens, for he will not follow her there.
Brünnhilde insists he will die—he has seen the Valkyrie’s face. Hunding will kill him. Siegmund almost laughs in scorn. His sword will take care of Hunding, and she may take him to Valhalla instead if she is so thirsty for blood. Brünnhilde tells him the sword will fail. He who gave it its magic now takes it away. Siegmund quiets Brünnhilde, lest she wake Sieglinde and frighten her. He cries “shame” on his father Wälse for abandoning him yet again. If he must die, then let Hell take him—he will not go to Valhalla. Brünnhilde pleads that he let her protect Sieglinde—for the sake of his unborn child she now carries, but he replies that he alone will protect Sieglinde. If he must die, then he will kill her first himself. He raises his sword, but Brünnhilde, overcome by such devotion, stops him. She swears that Sieglinde will live, and Siegmund will prevail in combat. She runs off while Siegmund watches her. He returns to caress the sleeping Sieglinde until Hunding’s approaching horns rouse him to draw the sword and enter battle.
Comment: Leave it to an operatic genius like Wagner to make us fall utterly in love with the hero of the story just in time to kill him off. This scene, called the Annunciation of Death (Todverkundigen, if you want to get precise about it), is one of the most
powerful in the Ring, drenched in mystery, ritual, and love. Our sympathy is with both characters. Brünnhilde meets her only brother to prepare him, against her instinct, for death, while he proves the depths of his love for Sieglinde by choosing union with her in Hell rather than separation from her in Heaven. The tenor must also convince us of Siegmund’s tenderness with gesture and body language, since much of the lovemaking in this scene is left unsung.
Siegmund and Sieglinde have certainly been very busy between Acts I and II. Literal-minded directors, who are the curse of our times, sometimes feel they must represent the cause of Sieglinde’s pregnancy onstage, as if we in the audience would have trouble believing it unless we saw proof. That is generally done at the end of Act I, where Wagner has obliged by providing several bars of frenzied orchestral music after Siegmund’s final outburst. Lest we get bored listening to mere orchestral music (!), Siegmund is often obliged to toss Sieglinde on the ground and do what must be done for the sake of theatrical credibility. Consider the proportions of the average Wagnerian singer and judge for yourself what this accomplishes for the sake of credibility. Most people would rather just take the libretto’s word for Sieglinde’s pregnancy and leave it at that.
A storm approaches, while Sieglinde, alone, writhes in agonizing nightmares, reliving the terrible night when her mother was killed and she herself was carried off. Lightning shows Hunding approaching on the ridge, calling “Wehwalt” to fight. Siegmund answers the challenge, charging him, while Sieglinde screams for the madmen to kill her instead. Brünnhilde emerges toward the fighting men, guarding Siegmund, but Wotan appears, making her shrink back. At Wotan’s command, Siegmund’s sword shatters, and Hunding stabs him with his spear. Sieglinde collapses. Wotan stares fixedly at Siegmund’s lifeless body. Only Brünnhilde moves, gathering the pieces of the shattered sword and then carrying Sieglinde away. In a voice so choked with emotion it is barely a whisper, Wotan tells Hunding, Fricka’s slave, to go tell his mistress that she is avenged. Wotan has kept his word. “Go!” he rasps, and Hunding falls dead on the spot. Wotan then remembers Brünnhilde’s defiance of his orders, and storms off to find and punish her.
Comment: This very long act (one hour and forty-five minutes) concludes rapidly with an abundance of action. For the last generation or so, directors have enjoyed keeping Siegmund alive long enough after his wound to see Wotan and recognize him as his father. This isn’t in the libretto or the supplementary stage directions, but it’s too poignant to resist. Wagner himself may have given the cue for this particular bit of business, since an early prose sketch of this scene had Wotan appear here as Wälse, that is, as the “old man in the slouched hat” Sieglinde mentioned in Act I. He clearly liked the idea of Siegmund recognizing his long-lost father, but apparently could not come up with any convincing reason for Wotan to don the outfit.
Act III
Setting: The Valkyries’ rock in the mountains.
The Valkyries call to each other as they gather on their rock, reuniting after collecting slain heroes on the battlefield. They ask each other whom they are carrying to honor in Valhalla, and discover that the dead heroes’ horses whinny and fight with each other as if possessed by their masters’ hatred. This causes the Valkyries to laugh and shout with glee. The eight who have gathered wonder where Brünnhilde is, noting that “War-Father” would greet them coldly if she were not with them. They see Brünnhilde flying through the air on her horse Grane. Never have they seen Grane gallop so furiously. They greet her from afar, and notice, as she approaches, that Brünnhilde is carrying a woman rather than a customary slain hero.
Comment: This, of course, is the “famous” scene from this opera, and many who are in the audience to experience a night of whooping Valkyries will be surprised by its relative briefness. Yet the point is made in a few minutes. The eight wild full-voiced women and the furious orchestra manage to make an unforgettable impact. The music is dizzying, intoxicating, and sinister—like war itself. Using women’s voices to carry this message was perfect genius on Wagner’s part. For more on this scene, see “Lobby Talk for Walküre” below.
Brünnhilde approaches her sisters with Sieglinde, crying for help. Never before had she run from battle, but now she is pursued by the Battle-Father himself! The sisters notice storm clouds brewing in the north—Wotan is charging toward them on his sacred horse! Brünnhilde begs for help—a horse to carry Sieglinde away, but the Valkyries cannot join her rebellion. The wretched Sieglinde begs to be allowed to die, but Brünnhilde tells her she must live for the sake of her unborn child. A Volsung grows in her womb! Instantly transformed by the news, Sieglinde begs for help from the Valkyries, but they remain adamant. Brünnhilde gives her the shattered pieces of Notung and tells her to flee to the east. Three of the Valkyries have flown in that direction, and they tell how Fafner has transformed himself into a dragon and guards the Ring and the horde of gold. It isn’t a safe place for a woman, but Wotan does not like to go there. Sieglinde can avoid his anger there. Brünnhilde will await Wotan on the rock and suffer his anger, delaying him while Sieglinde escapes. Now Sieglinde must bear the hero, who will reforge and wield the sword. His name will be “Siegfried.” Sieglinde ecstatically blesses Brünnhilde and runs away.
Comment: This frenzied scene introduces us to two important musical themes. The first is when Brünnhilde gives the name to the unborn child. This will be one of Siegfried’s several leitmotivs, the one often referred to as Siegfried the Brave, and is played, transformed, and replayed throughout the saga. Directly after this, Sieglinde blesses Brünnhilde in a long, soaring musical phrase. This will only recur once, at the very end of Götterdämmerung. This leitmotiv is the punchline, so to speak, of the whole saga. For more information on it, see the comment at the end of Götterdämmerung.
Wotan enters in fury. The Valkyries timidly try to hide Brünnhilde amongst themselves, further angering Wotan. Did they inherit such whining spirits from him? He lists Brünnhilde’s wrongs: no one but she knew his thoughts and intentions, yet she took up arms against him. And now she dares to hide? Brünnhilde presents herself, ready for punishment, but Wotan pronounces that she herself has already made her own punishment. She was created by his will, and opposed his will. Therefore, she must cease to exist as she was. She is banished from his sight forever. The Valkyries wail, and Brünnhilde cannot believe what she hears, and yet there is more. She is confined to the mountaintop in sleep, defenseless against any man who takes her. The Valkyries scream out against this most unjust of punishments, but Wotan is hardened against them. Does such a fate terrify them? Then let them be gone, or they will each share the same punishment! They flee, while Brünnhilde lies prostrate in humiliation.
Comment: This may rank as the vocally noisiest scene in the entire Ring, with the Valkyries vying with each other to display the most terror. It is absolutely unnerving.
Wotan spins out his accusation in a series of eight statements, each in the form of “I did X, but you denied X.” It’s all pretty convincing, within the convoluted reasoning of this saga.
For a long while, Brünnhilde and Wotan are alone and silent together, while the storm that hailed the god’s approach dies down. Timidly, Brünnhilde asks if her offense was so shameful as to warrant such a punishment. She begs her father to be calm and explain it to her. He instructs her to ask herself what she did. She replies that she carried out his true wishes—in siding with Siegmund she carried out the will of Wotan’s heart. Exactly, he replies. She did what he longed to do. While he mastered his longing, and suffered for it, she allowed herself to swirl in the bliss of love. Then let her light and loving heart be her guide, for they too must be parted.
Brünnhilde pleads intellectual weakness. She cannot follow his subtle arguments, and only knows to love what he loves. So if you were happy to follow the guidance of love, he replies coldly, then let her love the one who will conquer her. She seizes this opportunity. At least let it be a hero, and not any coward who will take her in her sleep! Wotan
says that she has rejected him, and he cannot help her. But the greatest hero will be born to Sieglinde! Although her deed has torn her away from Wotan, at least it ensured the birth of the Volsung hero. Please let her be taken by the greatest hero! Wotan does not want to hear of the Volsungs, but Brünnhilde is insistent. This one thing he must allow! she says bravely. Let the mountain be surrounded by fire, so only a fearless man may approach her! Crumbling under a wave of emotion, Wotan cries out “farewell!” to this brave, wonderful child. If she must be parted from him forever, then, yes, he will create such a fire around her as never blazed for any bride! Only one shall win the bride, one who is freer than he, the god. Tenderly he embraces her, drinking in the last look of her bright eyes. He then kisses her divinity away and lays her down to sleep under her breastplate and helmet.
Picking up the Spear, he strikes the ground and orders Loge to set the mountaintop ablaze. Flames soar up around the sleeping Brünnhilde, and soon the entire mountain is ablaze. Wotan, amid the flames, again lifts his Spear, and pronounces that “No one who fears the tip of my Spear shall ever cross the fire!” In absolute dejection, he walks away, twice looking back at Brünnhilde’s recumbent figure.
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