ns heart-wholly to greet Freia returning among
them, bringing back their lost youth.

While the gods are expressing tender rapture over the restoration of
Freia, and she goes from one to the other receiving their caresses,
Fafner spreads open a gigantic sack and in this is briskly stuffing
the gold. Fasolt, otherwise preoccupied, had not thought to bring
a sack. He attempts to stay Fafner's too active hand. "Hold on,
you grasping one, leave something for me! An honest division will
be best for us both!" Fafner objects, "You, amorous fool, cared
more for the maid than the gold. With difficulty I persuaded you
to the exchange. You would haved wooed Freia without thought of
division, wherefore in the division of the spoil I shall still
be generous if I keep the larger half for myself." Fasolt's anger
waxes great. He calls upon the gods to judge between them and divide
the treasure justly. Wotan turns from his appeal with characteristic
contempt. Loge, the mischief-lover, whispers to Fasolt, "Let him
take the treasure, do you but reserve the ring!" Fafner has during
this not been idle, but has sturdily filled his sack; the ring is
on his hand. Fasolt demands it in exchange for Freia's glance.
He snatches at it, Fafner defends it, and when in the wrestling
which ensues Fasolt has forced it from his brother, the latter
lifts his tree-trunk and strikes him dead. Having taken the ring
from his hand, he leisurely proceeds to finish his packing, while
the gods stand around appalled, and the air shudderingly resounds
with the notes of the curse. A long, solemn silence follows. Fafner
is seen, after a time, shouldering the sack, into which the whole of
the glimmering Hort has disappeared, and, bowed under its weight,
leaving for home.

"Dreadful," says Wotan, deeply shaken; "I now perceive to be the
power of the curse!" Sorrow and fear lie crushingly upon his spirit.
Erda, who warned him of the power of the curse, now proven before his
eyes, warned him likewise of worse things, of old order changing,
a dark day dawning for the gods. He must seek Erda, learn more,
have counsel what to do. He is revolving such thoughts when Fricka,
who believes all their trouble now ended, approaches him with sweet
words, and directs his eyes to the beautiful dwelling hospitably
awaiting its masters. "An evil price I paid for the building!"
Wotan replies heavily.

Mists are still hanging over the valley, clinging to the heights;
nor have the clo