ideal. He himself has found how far short Godhead falls of the
thing it conceives. He, the greatest of gods, has been unable to
control his fate: he has been forced against his will to choose
between evils, to make disgraceful bargains, to break them still
more disgracefully, and even then to see the price of his
disgrace slip through his fingers. His consort has cost him half
his vision; his castle has cost him his affections; and the
attempt to retain both has cost him his honor. On every side he
is shackled and bound, dependent on the laws of Fricka and on the
lies of Loki, forced to traffic with dwarfs for handicraft and
with giants for strength, and to pay them both in false coin.
After all, a god is a pitiful thing. But the fertility of the
First Mother is not yet exhausted. The life that came from her
has ever climbed up to a higher and higher organization. From
toad and serpent to dwarf, from bear and elephant to giant, from
dwarf and giant to a god with thoughts, with comprehension of the
world, with ideals. Why should it stop there? Why should it not
rise from the god to the Hero? to the creature in whom the god's
unavailing thought shall have become effective will and life, who
shall make his way straight to truth and reality over the laws of
Fricka and the lies of Loki with a strength that overcomes giants
and a cunning that outwits dwarfs? Yes: Erda, the First Mother,
must travail again, and breed him a race of heroes to deliver the
world and himself from his limited powers and disgraceful
bargains. This is the vision that flashes on him as he turns to
the rainbow bridge and calls his wife to come and dwell with him
in Valhalla, the home of the gods.

They are all overcome with Valhalla's glory except Loki. He is
behind the scenes of this joint reign of the Divine and the