uds yet wholly lifted from their spirits. Donner,
to clear the atmosphere, conjures a magnificent storm, by the blow
of his hammer bringing about thunder and lightning. When the black
cloud disperses which for a moment enveloped him and Froh on the
high rock from which he directs this festival of the elements,
a bright rainbow appears, forming a bridge between the rock and
the castle now shining in sunset light. A bridge of music is here
built, too; the tremulous weaving of it in tender and gorgeous
colours is seen through the ear, and its vaulting the valley with
an easy overarching spring. Froh, architect of the bridge, bids
the gods walk over it fearlessly: It is light but will prove solid
under their feet.

Wotan stands sunk in contemplation of the castle; his reflections,
still upon the shameful circumstances of his bargain, are not happy.
In the midst of them he is struck by a great thought, and recovers
his courage and hardihood. The sharp, bright, resolute motif which
represents his inspiration is afterward indissolubly connected
with the Sword,--a sword aptly embodying his idea, which is one
of defence for his castle and clan. A suggestion of his idea is
contained, too, in the word which he gives to Fricka as the castle's
name, when he now invites her to accompany him thither: Walhalla,
Hall of the Slain in Battle, or, Hall of Heroes.

Headed by Wotan and Fricka, the gods ascend toward the bridge.
Loge looks after them in mingled irony and contempt. "There they
hasten to their end, who fancy themselves so firmly established in
being. I am almost ashamed to have anything to do with them...."
And he revolves in his mind a scheme for turning into elemental fire
again and burning them all up, those blind gods. He is nonchalantly
adding himself to their train, when from the Rhine below rises
the lament of the Rhine-daughters, begging that their gold may
be given back to them. Wotan pauses with his foot on the bridge:
"What wail is that?" Loge enlightens him, and, at Wotan's annoyed,
"Accursed nixies! Stop their importunity!" calls down to them,
"You, down there in the water, what are you complaining about?
Hear what Wotan bids: No longer having the gold to shine for you,
make yourselves happy basking in the sunshine of this new pomp of
the gods!" Loud laughter from the gods greets this sally, and they
pass over the bridge, Walhalla-ward, followed by the water-nymphs'
wail for their lost gold, closing with the rep