Freia's cries, as the giants lay hands upon her, bring her brothers
Donner and Froh--the god of Thunder and the god of the Fields--quickly
to her side. A combat between them and the giants is imminent, when
Wotan parts the antagonists with his spear, "Nothing by violence!"
and he adds, what it might be thought he had lost sight of, "My
spear is the protector of bargains!"
And then finally, finally, comes in sight Loge. Wotan lets out his
breath in relief: "Loge at last!"
The music has introduced Loge by a note-painting as of fire climbing
up swiftly through airiest fuel. There is a quick flash or two, like
darting tongues of flame. A combination of swirling and bickering
and pulsating composes the commonest Loge-motif, but the variety
is endless of the fire's caprices. Fantastical, cheery, and light
it is mostly, sinister sometimes, suggestive of treachery, but
terrible never; its beauty rather than its terror is reproduced.
So characteristic are the fire-motifs that after a single hearing a
person instinctively when one occurs looks for some sign or suggestion
of Loge.
He stands now upon the rock, a vivid, charming, disquieting apparition,
with his wild red hair and fluttering scarlet cloak. The arch-hypocrite
wears always a consummately artless air. He comes near winning
us by a bright perfect good-humour, which is as of the quality
of an intelligence without a heart. The love of mischief for its
own sake, which is one of his chief traits, might be thought to
account easily for his many enemies.
He is related to the gods, a half-god, but is regarded coldly by
his kin. Wotan is his single friend in the family, and with Wotan
he preserves the attitude of a self-acknowledged underling. He
stands in fear of his immediate strength, while nourishing a hardly
disguised contempt for his wit, as well as that of his cousins
collectively. A secret hater of them all, and clear-minded in estimating
them. A touch of Mephistophelian there is in the pleasure which he
seems to find in the contemplation of the canker-spot in Wotan's
nature, drawing from the god over and over again, as if the admission
refreshed him, that he has no intention of dealing justly toward
the Rhine-maidens.
"Is this your manner of hastening to set aright the evil bargain
concluded by you?" Wotan chides, as he appears from the valley.
"How? What bargain concluded by me?..."
Pinned down to accounting for himself, "I promised," he says, "to
think over the matter, and try to find means of loosing you from
the bargain.... But how should I have promised to perform the
impossible?" Under the pressure of all their angers, he finally
airily delivers himself: "Having at heart to help you, I travelled
the world over, visiting its most recondite corners, in search
of such a substitute for Freia as might be found acceptable to
the giants. Vainly I sought, and now at last I plainly see that
nothing upon this earth is so precious that it can take the place
in man's affection of the loveliness and worth of woman."
Struck and uplifted by this thought, the gods, moved, look in one
another's faces, and the music expresses the sweet expansion of
the heart overflowing with thoughts of beauty and love. It is one
of the memorable moments of the Prologue.
"Everywhere," proceeds Loge, "far as life reaches, in water, earth,
and air, wherever is quickening of germs and stirring of nature's
forces, I investigated and inquired what there might be in existence
that a man should hold dearer than woman's beauty and worth? Everywhere
my inquiry was met with derision. No creature, in water, earth, or
air, is willing to renounce love and woman."
As he pauses, the gods again gaze at one another, with tender tearful
smiles, in an exalted emotion over the recognition of this touching
truth; and the music reexpresses that blissful expansion of the
heart.
"Only one did I see," Loge says further--the light fading out of
the music--"who had renounced love; for red gold he had forsworn
the favor of woman." He relates Alberich's theft of the gold, as
it had been told him by the Rhine-daughters, who had made him their
advocate with Wotan, to procure its restitution.
But their plea meets with a deaf ear. "You are stupid, indeed,
if not perverse," the god answers Loge, when he delivers their
appeal. "You find me in straits myself, how should I help others?"
The giants have been listening to this talk about Alberich, an
ancient enemy of theirs. The cleverer brother asks Loge, "What
great advantage is involved in the possession of the gold, that
the Nibelung should find it all-sufficient?" Loge explains. There
drift back to Wotan's memory runes of the Ring, and the thought
readily arises that it would be well he possessed the ring himself.
"But how, Loge, should I learn the art to shape it?" At the reply
that he who would practise the magic by which it could be shaped
must renounce love, the god turns away in conclusive disrelish.
Loge informs him that he would in any case have been too late:
Alberich has already successfully forged the ring.
This alters the face of things.
"But if he possesses a ring of such power," says simple Donner, "it
must be taken from him, lest he bring us all under its compulsion!"