That Wagner wished to give the impression that Erda was the mother of all beings, divine and human, at the beginning of the world, he has shown by the fact that the motif of the Primal Element—the commencement of all things—is identical with hers, save that where she is indicated the melody takes a minor coloring, denoting her character of mystery as well as the gloom in which her prophetic powers must necessarily envelop her. The contrasting, yet harmonizing, elements of earth and water are also shadowed forth, I think, in this motif of the Primal Element, which is used for the _Rhine_, and also for the Goddess of the _Earth_. When the Vala’s daughters—the Nornir—are mirrored in the music, the same melody appears, fraught with the waving, weaving sound of their mystic spinning. The motifs in Wagner’s operas are, above all, descriptive. For example, note the Walhalla, Nibelung, and Giant motifs. The first of these, full of power, substance, and dignity, not only is descriptive of the great palace itself, but also represents the entire race of gods who inhabit it, seemingly secure in their conscious glory and sovereignty. To indicate Wotan, the King of the gods and the ruler in Walhalla, Wagner has constantly made use of this motif. Its melody is measured, strong, and simple, and the nobility of those worshipped gods of primeval years seems to breathe through it. The Nibelungs were so intimately associated with their work that they were scarcely more than living machines—soulless exponents of the art of the forge and the anvil; so when we hear in the music the beat of hammers—the sharp, metallic clang in measured time, our first thought is that the hammers are swung by the Nibelungs. How cramped is their melody, how monotonous and hopeless is the regular fall of the hammers! When we hear it hushed and veiled with discords, we seem to come in contact with the narrow, darkened souls of the Nibelungs. And now we come to the motif of the giants. It is, like themselves, heavy, lumbering, with a slur that is like the stumbling of heavy feet. Clumsy and ungraceful, it and what it represents cross the idyllic beauty of the motifs of Friea, Walhalla, the Ring, the Rhinegold, and the rest, with a harsh and disagreeable sense of an inharmonious element. How different from the majestic gods, and the clever, small-souled Nibelungs, are these great creatures who are all bodies and no brains, and who are so ably represented by the music allotted them in the operas! Yet, in their own way, they and their motif are extremely picturesque! In these three motifs we can see the genius which formed them, and so many others, even greater in conception and execution. Scattered throughout _The Story of the Rhinegold_ will be found a few of these motifs—only a few and not the most lovely—but enough I think to help one, in a small way, to follow the operas with more interest and understanding than if one did not know them.