"Father! Father!
Tell me what ails thee?
With dismay thou art filling thy child!"
WOTAN [His voice muffled again.
Another ill—
Mark what I say—
Was by the Wala foretold!
Through Alberich's hosts
Doom may befall us;
A furious grudge
Alberich bears me;
But now that my heroes
Make victory certain
I defy the hosts of the night.
Only if he won
The ring again from me,
Walhall were forfeit for ever.
Used by him alone
Who love forswore
Could the runes of the ring
Bring doom
To the mighty gods,
And shame without end.
My heroes' valour
He would pervert,
Would stir to strife
The bold ones themselves,
And with their strength
Wage war upon me.
So, alarmed, I resolved
To wrest the ring from the foeman.
[In a low voice.
I once paid Fafner,
One of the giants,
With gold accurst
For work achieved.
Fafner guards now the hoard
For which his own brother he slew.
The ring I must needs recover
With which his work I rewarded.
But I cannot strike one
By treaties protected;
Vanquished by him
My valour would fail.
These are the bonds
That bind my power;
I, who by treaties am lord,
To my treaties also am slave.
But what I dare not
One man may dare—
A hero never
Helped by my favour,
To me unknown
And granted no grace,
Unaware,
Bidden by none,
Constrained thereto
By his own distress—
He could achieve
What I must not do:
The deed I never urged,
Though it was all my desire.
But, alas! how to find
One to fight me, the god,
For my good—
Most friendly of foes!
How fashion the free one
By me unshielded,
In his proud defiance
Most precious to me?
How get me the other
Who, not through me,
But of himself
Will perform my will?
O woe of the gods!
Horrible shame!
Soul-sick am I
Of seeing myself
In all I ever created.
The other whom I so long for,
That other I never find.
The free by themselves must be fashioned,
All that I fashion are slaves!
BRÜNNHILDE
But the Wälsung, Siegmund,
Works for himself.
WOTAN
Wild I roamed
In the woodland with him,
Ever against the gods
Goading him to rebel.
[Slowly and bitterly.
Now, when the gods seek vengeance,
Shield he has none but the sword
Given to him
By the grace of a god.
Why did I try
To trick myself vainly?
How easily Fricka
Found out the fraud!
She read my inmost
Heart to my shame.
I must bend my will to her wishes.
BRÜNNHILDE
Of victory wouldst Siegmund deprive?
WOTAN
I have handled Alberich's ring,
Loth to let the gold go.
The curse that I fled
Is following me:
I must always lose what I love most,
Slay what my heart holds dearest,
Basely betray
All those who trust.
[His gestures, at first those of terrible grief end by expressing despair.
Pale then and pass
Glory and pomp,
Godhead's resplendent,
Glittering shame!
In ruins fall
The fabric I built!
Ended is my work;
I wait but one thing more:
The downfall—
The downfall!