HUNDING [Rises.
I know a wild-blooded breed;
What others revere
It flouts unawed:
All hate it, and I with the rest.
When forth in haste I was summoned,
Vengeance to seek
For my kinsmen's blood,
I came too late,
And now return home
To find the impious wretch
In haven under my roof.—
My house holds thee,
Wölfing, to-day;
For the night thou art my guest.
But wield to-morrow
Thy trustiest weapon.
I choose the day for the fight:
Thy life shall pay for the dead.
[To Sieglinde, who steps between the two men with anxious gestures; harshly.
Forth from the hall!
Linger not here!
Prepare my draught for the night,
And wait until I come.
[Sieglinde stands for a while undecided and thoughtful. Slowly and with hesitating steps she goes towards the store-room, There she pauses again, lost in thought, her face half averted. With quiet resolution she opens the cupboard, fills a drinking-horn, and shakes spices into it out of a box. She then turns her eyes on Siegmund, in order to meet his gaze, which he never removes from her. She perceives that Hunding is watching, and proceeds immediately to the bed-chamber. On the steps she turns once more, looks yearningly at Siegmund, and indicates with her eyes, persistently and with speaking plainness, a particular spot in the stem of the ash-tree. Hunding starts, and drives her off with a violent gesture. With a last look at Siegmund, she disappears into the bed-chamber, and shuts the door behind her.
HUNDING [Taking his weapons from the tree-stem.
With weapons man should be armed.
We meet to-morrow then Wölfing.
My word thou hast heard;
Ward thyself well!
[He goes into bed-chamber. The shooting of the bolt is heard from within.
[Siegmund alone. It has grown quite dark. All the light in the hall comes from a dull fire on the hearth. Siegmund sinks down on to a couch beside the fire and broods forsome time silently in great agitation.
SIEGMUND
My father said when most wanted
A sword I should find and wield.
Swordless I entered
My foeman's house,
As a hostage here
I remain.
I saw a fair
Woman and sweet,
And bliss and dread
Consume my heart.
The woman for whom I long—
She whose charm both wounds and
delights—
In thrall is held by the man
Who mocks a weaponless foe.
Wälse! Wälse!
Where is thy sword?—
The trusty sword
To be swung in battle,
When from my bosom should burst
The fury that fills my heart?
[The fire collapses. From the flame which leaps up a bright light falls on the spot in the ash-tree's stem indicated by Sieglinde's look, and on which the hilt of a sword is now plainly visible.