In the second act we return to the hall of Gibich, where Hagen, in the
last hours of that night, still sits, his spear in his hand, and his
shield beside him. At his knees crouches a dwarfish spectre, his father
Alberic, still full of his old grievances against Wotan, and urging his
son in his dreams to win back the ring for him. This Hagen swears to
do; and as the apparition of his father vanishes, the sun rises and
Siegfried suddenly comes from the river bank tucking into his belt the
Tarnhelm, which has transported him from the mountain like the enchanted
carpet of the Arabian tales. He describes his adventures to Gutrune
until Gunther's boat is seen approaching, when Hagen seizes a cowhorn
and calls the tribesmen to welcome their chief and his bride. It is most
exhilarating, this colloquy with the startled and hastily armed clan,
ending with a thundering chorus, the drums marking the time with mighty
pulses from dominant to tonic, much as Rossini would have made them do
if he had been a pupil of Beethoven's.
A terrible scene follows. Gunther leads his captive bride straight into
the presence of Siegfried, whom she claims as her husband by the ring,
which she is astonished to see on his finger: Gunther, as she supposes,
having torn it from her the night before. Turning on Gunther, she says
"Since you took that ring from me, and married me with it, tell him of
your right to it; and make him give it back to you." Gunther stammers,
"The ring! I gave him no ring--er--do you know him?" The rejoinder is
obvious. "Then where are you hiding the ring that you had from me?"
Gunther's confusion enlightens her; and she calls Siegfried trickster
and thief to his face. In vain he declares that he got the ring from no
woman, but from a dragon whom he slew; for he is manifestly puzzled;
and she, seizing her opportunity, accuses him before the clan of having
played Gunther false with her.
Hereupon we have another grandiose operatic oath, Siegfried attesting
his innocence on Hagen's spear, and Brynhild rushing to the footlights
and thrusting him aside to attest his guilt, whilst the clansmen call
upon their gods to send down lightnings and silence the perjured. The
gods do not respond; and Siegfried, after whispering to Gunther that the
Tarnhelm seems to have been only half effectual after all, laughs his
way out of the general embarrassment and goes off merrily to prepare for
his wedding, with his arm round Gutrune's waist, followed by the
clan. Gunther, Hagen and Brynhild are left together to plot operatic
vengeance. Brynhild, it appears, has enchanted Siegfried in such a
fashion that no weapon can hurt him. She has, however, omitted to
protect his back, since it is impossible that he should ever turn that
to a foe. They agree accordingly that on the morrow a great hunt shall
take place, at which Hagen shall thrust his spear into the hero's
vulnerable back. The blame is to be laid on the tusk of a wild boar.
Gunther, being a fool, is remorseful about his oath of blood-brotherhood
and about his sister's bereavement, without having the strength of mind
to prevent the murder. The three burst into a herculean trio, similar
in conception to that of the three conspirators in Un Ballo in Maschera;
and the act concludes with a joyous strain heralding the appearance of
Siegfried's wedding procession, with strewing of flowers, sacrificing to
the gods, and carrying bride and bridegroom in triumph.
It will be seen that in this act we have lost all connection with the
earlier drama. Brynhild is not only not the Brynhild of The Valkyries,
she is the Hiordis of Ibsen, a majestically savage woman, in whom
jealousy and revenge are intensified to heroic proportions. That is the
inevitable theatrical treatment of the murderous heroine of the Saga.
Ibsen's aim in The Vikings was purely theatrical, and not, as in his
later dramas, also philosophically symbolic. Wagner's aim in Siegfried's
Death was equally theatrical, and not, as it afterwards became in the
dramas of which Siegfried's antagonist Wotan is the hero, likewise
philosophically symbolic. The two master-dramatists therefore produce
practically the same version of Brynhild. Thus on the second evening of
The Ring we see Brynhild in the character of the truth-divining instinct
in religion, cast into an enchanted slumber and surrounded by the fires
of hell lest she should overthrow a Church corrupted by its alliance
with government. On the fourth evening, we find her swearing a malicious
lie to gratify her personal jealousy, and then plotting a treacherous
murder with a fool and a scoundrel. In the original draft of Siegfried's
Death, the incongruity is carried still further by the conclusion, at
which the dead Brynhild, restored to her godhead by Wotan, and again a
Valkyrie, carries the slain Siegfried to Valhalla to live there happily
ever after with its pious heroes.
As to Siegfried himself, he talks of women, both in this second act and
the next, with the air of a man of the world. "Their tantrums," he
says, "are soon over." Such speeches do not belong to the novice of the
preceding drama, but to the original Siegfried's Tod, with its leading
characters sketched on the ordinary romantic lines from the old Sagas,
and not yet reminted as the original creations of Wagner's genius whose
acquaintance we have made on the two previous evenings. The very
title "Siegfried's Death" survives as a strong theatrical point in the
following passage. Gunther, in his rage and despair, cries, "Save me,
Hagen: save my honor and thy mother's who bore us both." "Nothing can
save thee," replies Hagen: "neither brain nor hand, but SIEGFRIED'S
DEATH." And Gunther echoes with a shudder, "SIEGFRIED'S DEATH!"