CHAPTER I

THE RHINE MAIDENS

At the bottom of the river Rhine, about the dark rock where rested the invisible Rhinegold, there swam one morning before sunrise the Gold’s fair guardians, the three children of the Rhine. They were beautiful maidens, these three water-spirits, the most lovely of all the river people, and their names were Flosshilde, Woglinde, and Wellgunde. They were singing softly, and glancing constantly up to the rock’s crest, waiting for the appearance of the Rhinegold, which could only be seen when the sun had risen up above and sent its rays into the water to disclose the treasure. They sang a little rippling refrain that meant nothing except laughter and joy, and sounded very like the ripples of the water themselves:

“Weia waga—”

sang Woglinde,

“Wavering waters, weaving and whirling, Walala weia!”

And so they sang on, till their voices mingled so with the ripple that both voices and water became almost one in sound.

Now, while these three lovely maids, seeming almost part of the water in their dresses of shimmering blue-green, with pale wreaths of river flowers in their hair, and their white arms looking frail as moonbeams as they raised them through the water—while they moved about the rock singing and laughing together, a strange, dark little man stood near watching them. He had risen out of a black chasm in one of the rocks, and he had come from far Nibelheim, through an underground passage. He had small eyes, his hair and beard were the color of ink, and he looked very wicked. Can you guess who he was?

He shouted gruffly to the Rhine Maidens, and they, being much amused at his ugly appearance, drew near with laughter and mocking words. They led him wild chases in among the rocks, they played with him merry games of hide-and-seek—merry for them, but not at all so for him, for he was clumsy in motion compared with them, and he became very angry because he could not follow them over the rocks.

“Smooth, slippery, slush and slime,” he grumbled. “The dampness makes me sneeze.”

At last, just as he had become thoroughly angry, there appeared suddenly a strange brightness at the top of the rock—a wonderful golden light that glowed with ever-increasing brilliance down into the water.

“Ah, see, sisters!” cried Woglinde. “The awakening sun laughs down into the depths.”

“Yes,” said Wellgunde, with soft delight, “it greets the slumbering Gold!”

“With a kiss of light the Gold is aroused!” said Flosshilde. And, joining hands, they swam excitedly about the rock, singing in bursts of gladness:

“Weia waga, Weia waga, Rhinegold, Rhinegold, Glorious joy.”

“You gliders,” questioned Alberich (for it was he), “what is this that gleams and glistens over yonder?”

[Illustration: THE GLEAMING TREASURE]

Laughing at his ignorance, the nymphs told him that it was a magical Gold; that whoever made a Ring from it would have greater power than any one else alive; that he could possess all the wealth of the world if he wished; and they so described the fairy powers of the treasure that Alberich’s wicked soul began to thrill with desire to have it as his own.

The sisters further told him that the Gold was safe from thieves, because it could only be stolen by some one who had made up his mind never to love any one except himself so long as he might live.

“We have nothing to fear,” said gentle Woglinde, “for every one who lives must love.”

But Alberich pondered silently. “All the wealth in the world!” he thought. “For that who would not give up love?” And he sprang wildly up the rocks.

“Listen, waves and water-witches!” he shouted, as he reached towards the gleaming treasure. “Never will I, the Dwarf, give love to any creature save myself through all my life.” And while, with wild cries, the Rhine Maidens hastened near to prevent him, Alberich, the Nibelung, tore the Rhinegold from the tall, black rock, and fled with it into the black chasm, and so to Nibelheim.

And, left behind, the nymphs could only wail for their lost joy with sobs and cries of “Sorrow, sorrow! Ah—to rescue the Gold!”

But it was too late. And in the dark hollow chasm, Alberich, fleeing with the treasure, laughed at their despair.

[Music: Motif of the Giants]

[Music: Motif of Friea]