The last hour of the old gods has come; the Norns spin their web on the Valkyries’ rock; it breaks, and they sink into the earth, knowing that all is finished.  Dawn breaks, and Siegfried and Bruennhilda come out of their cavern; Siegfried must now go forth to deeds of derring-do, for, like Lovelace, “how could he love her, dear, so much, loved he not honour more?” She bids him go, and he goes; the flames immediately spring up again round her dwelling—­for what reason Wagner does not explain.  Neither does he explain why Bruennhilda does not travel with her husband—­the explanation is made only too obvious afterwards.  He travels to the Rhine, and there meets Hagen, Guenther and Guenther’s sister Gutruna.  Hagen, the son of Alberich, is more or less like Mime, a half-super-natural being, malignant, diabolical, with only one idea, that of getting possession of the gold, and, above all, of the Ring.  He knows of Siegfried’s “deed,” and knows that Siegfried is coming that way; but he keeps the story to himself, and tells Guenther and Gutruna of the fearless hero and of Bruennhilda sleeping on the mountain-top encircled by fire.  Guenther desires the woman, Gutruna the man.  But only Siegfried can pass through the fire.  Pat to the moment he arrives, and enters leading Grani.  Hagen offers him drink which contains a powder which destroys his memory; he forgets all about Bruennhilda, but not, apparently, about the magic cap; he gazes in rapture at Gutruna, and in a few minutes the pact is made—­Siegfried shall take Guenther’s form and win Bruennhilda for him; in return he will have Gutruna, who is more than willing.  The two men go off together, and the scene changes again to the Valkyries’ rock.  Bruennhilda sits alone looking at the Ring; Waltraute, one of the Valkyries, rushes in and demands that Ring.  She relates how for want of it Wotan, dreading that it may fall into the hands of Alberich, sits gloomy and silent in Valhalla.  But Bruennhilda is now wholly woman and has no sympathy with the gods; she refuses the Ring, and Waltraute goes off in despair.  The flames begin to flicker and dance; Siegfried’s horn is heard; and presently he enters in Guenther’s form, or at least as nearly in it as can be managed on the stage.  He claims and seizes Bruennhilda, sends her into the sleeping-chamber, and, swearing truth to his new friend Guenther, follows with his drawn sword ready to place between him and his bride.

So the act closes.  Bruennhilda’s horror and shame are unspeakable; she cannot understand; Wotan had promised her the great hero, and this promise is broken and a last humiliation inflicted on her.  The act is intolerably long; even were every moment crowded with Wagner’s most glorious music the strain on our attention would be terrific.  But the music is by no means uniformly of Wagner’s best; for pages on pages his sheer craftsmanship fairly gallops away with him.  The Norn scene is as purely theatrical as anything he wrote; the atmosphere is,