The drama of Siegmund and Sieglinda is ended; the second inner drama, that of Wotan and Bruennhilda, is begun.  Love, the best part of Wotan’s nature, has risen against him in his endeavour to rule; she cannot prevent him destroying the creatures he has made, but she can defy him.  That sort of rule would be intolerable, so love shall be put away from him and he will still rule.  And, love being discarded, there is no reason why he should not still get the Ring, by fair or foul means, and reign—­loveless indeed, but in no fear of Fafner or the Nibelung, black Alberich.

IV

As a musical structure the Second Act divides more easily and clearly than the first into sections:  the sections, indeed, are boldly defined.  First there is a prelude formed of the scene in which Wotan, rejoicing in the coming combat, directs Bruennhilda to see to it that Hunding is slain; and this is followed by what may be regarded as the main first movement—­the dispute between Wotan and Fricka, terminating in his taking the oath; then comes his monologue, addressed, of course, to Bruennhilda ("In talking to thee it is with myself I seem to speak,” to transcribe approximately what he says); Bruennhilda’s warning to Siegmund follows, and then the finale, the catastrophic climax with Siegmund’s death.

The prelude opens with the same fiery impetuosity as that to the First Act.  It is largely made up of what in the guide-books used to be called the “Flight motive”—­as though a serious composer would or could invent a motive of Running away!—­and as the opening bar may be taken as a variation of the Sword theme, and the thing ends with what we learn to be a tune associated with the Valkyries, a really fertile and picturesque mind may see in it a musical account of Siegmund flying with the Sword and pursued, for good or evil, by the Valkyrie.  What we really feel in it is the harshness of the opening discords, the agitation, the power, all forming a fitting prelude to what we see when the curtain rises, the barren rocks, and Wotan, exultant, calling Bruennhilda.  His phrases have, indeed, a glorious vigour, as have Bruennhilda’s in her answer.  Her war-whoop plays an important part in the Third Act.  Fricka’s music is royally imperious at first:  such declamation had never been thought of in the world before; but there is rare beauty of an austere kind—­the beauty of holiness—­afterwards, as she momentarily drops her dignity and pleads her cause.  She gains the day and departs, and after Wotan’s tedious meditation comes the most magnificent music of all.  We hear the Fate theme—­a strange phrase that seems to question destiny without ever getting an answer—­and a subject taken bodily from Mendelssohn and made into a new thing filled with a curious blending of wistful and tender pity, mystery and power.  It gives us a glimpse into the very heart of Bruennhilda, obeying her father because she must, and revolting against the task.  Siegmund’s